


freedom rider

by chaoticspaces



Series: we lost it all in city lights [1]
Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, I'll add tags as it gets filthier, Porn With Plot, Trans Female Character, all three of them eventually, baby bisexual!Panam Palmer, but for now just let me have this, but now it is most definitely, fast and loose with timeline, featuring: best girlfriend!Judy Alvarez, let them take their time, my V is trans and I will die on that hill, post-Star ending, right now it's just me yelling in homosexual, she can still fuck a bitch up, soft streetkid!V, there will be actual plot coming in future works, they're still happy just to figure it out together, this started out as a flimsy reason to write porn, when I say soft I mean she’s a good person, your honour they're in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28708650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticspaces/pseuds/chaoticspaces
Summary: “I get hot all over when I remember,” Panam admits, tremulous; a whisper, a confession in a crowded church. “Her. You. T-that, um, together. I’m not… I’m not used to—to this. To—with women. I’ve never really, you know.”She clears her throat again. Her voice comes out wobbly, still. “Thought about it? Much? Before? But now I do. A lot.”Judy softens, tilting her head just right so the harsh lamplight catches her optics, makes her eyes flash brilliant blue. “Believe me, I get how knowin’ V can… she changes people. Everyone she meets knows that. It’s, uh… it can be a lot to take in sometimes.”ORSomeone sees something they shouldn't, and it starts a chain-reaction that none of them ever expected.
Relationships: Judy Alvarez/Female V, Judy Alvarez/Female V/Panam Palmer, Panam Palmer/Female V
Series: we lost it all in city lights [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104464
Comments: 60
Kudos: 503





	1. (and I hope) this doesn't awaken anything in me

**Author's Note:**

> a lot of stuff happens before and after this installment, which I will write eventually, and definitely not in chronological order. a good chunk of it is gonna be just Judy/V, especially early, because let's be real I LOVE THEM, but I am definitely not immune to the ot3. 
> 
> clearly. 
> 
> also, my level 50 V has 20 Body, Reflex, and Tech, but a 6 and 5 in Intelligence and Cool respectively. take that how you will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because it this fic eventually does have smut in it: V is a trans woman (in modern terms), but still has/uses some of her original genitalia, and I write her in that fashion. it will be touched on - gender is complicated NOW before you can modify your entire body - but if you do not like that, please be warned. I'll look into marking with the explicit content starts in the future.
> 
> check out the bottom notes for the comic that started it all.

“You still asleep? Gotta say, didn’t think I was runnin’ away from the city with a mole.”

Judy groans, curls her body up tighter in the flimsy sheets. A sword-sharp strip of light falls right over her eyes and rudely eviscerates any attempt to go back to sleep.

Doesn’t mean she won’t try, though.

“T’n m’re minzzz,” she mumbles into her pillow. Maybe if she doesn’t move, the sun will go away and she can stay in this threadbare cocoon forever.

Clink goes something on the crate they’ve been using as a sidetable. Weight dips the bed above Judy’s folded knees, one warm hand smoothing up her nearly-bare thigh. A shiver ripples through her before she can stop it; V laughs, low and raspy, entirely too observant for her own good.

“Last time you said that, you didn’t get up for ‘nother two hours.”

Judy turns her head, squinting in the new light. The tent flap falls back into place but it’s enough for the desert sun to glow gold on one half of V’s face. Even with the rest of her shrouded in darkness, she’s still the most beautiful thing Judy’s ever seen. “Mmm, that’s ‘cause I still had you in bed with me.”

V’s smile is fond, small – soft just for her. “I’m told I can be quite the distraction.”

Her hand is still on Judy’s thigh, the weight of it burning a hole into her gut. V leans in and that hand migrates from leg to hip to belly, strong as it spreads over, the rest of her body soon following. Her jacket zipper rasps against Judy’s bare back but the sting only makes her swallow.

“Really?” Judy murmurs, voice rough with sleep, yes, but something _deeper_ as V presses herself to Judy’s form, her mouth ghosting over her colourful nape, “who told you that?”

The silver seams of V’s fingers glint as they drift under the blanket, minnows slipping through a sunny stream. “You did.”

Breath, hot against her throat, makes her voice catch. V takes advantage and uses her leg to slide between Judy’s, prop them open – Judy’s face burns at the way she’s spread but it’s soon forgotten as those nimble fingers pass the curl of her hip and track through the slickness on the insides of her thighs.

V’s smile pressed behind her ear makes her belly clench. “Dreamin’ of me?”

Judy laughs, more of a rumble. “Always, you gonk.”

Not the answer V expects, it seems, but the correct one. Her fingers trail up Judy’s slit, waste no time riling her up – she’s still bare from last night, a little flushed and tender, and it doesn’t take much at all before she’s pressing into V’s expert hands.

Close, raucous laughter makes them both jump. Shadows pass over the tent, so close but so far, and a sharp thrill goes through her as someone comes too close for comfort.

At least the flap is closed enough this time.

“Don’t you dare stop,” Judy rasps, a pleading edge to her voice, but V’s fingers still where they’re pushed up against her. There’s a tension in her merc’s body that wasn’t there before; a livewire tremor, bare and burning.

So Judy traps V’s hand between her legs and makes to roll over. V murmurs her dissent, uses her heavier frame to push Judy back into the bed, already reaching over to sink her fingers inside – she goes with it only because she has no choice, V’s newly-metal skeleton leaving no real leverage to fight back.

“Wait,” she murmurs, still, hot and only half-meaning it against V’s mouth, and Judy’s heart flutters a little at how V immediately pulls back.

“You okay?” she asks, brow drawn and worried. Judy smiles and this time V lets her roll over, reaching down as she does, dragging V’s hand up to press against her mouth; sticky, slippery fingers part Judy’s lips, lacquering them with slick and saliva.

Like—like lipgloss.

The taste of herself combined with the sour tang of sleep isn’t what she’d consider pleasant, but the way V shivers, eyes wide and jaw open, she could feast on for days.

Only when V’s hand is clean (and she makes sure to do a _thorough_ job) does Judy grin, carelessly slinging a leg over V’s leather-clad hips. “Preem. _You_ okay?”

V’s eyes flicker away. Months ago, she would’ve thought she was talking to Johnny, but now…

“Fine.” Clearly a deflection, but Judy doesn’t say anything. They’ve got time. “You should eat.”

“Was that breakfast?”

V snorts, leaning close for a kiss. “No, _that’s_ breakfast. Well… lunch. You missed breakfast.”

Over her shoulder, a full plate of food, abandoned at the bedside. Judy’s eyes light up.

“You’re the best output a girl could ask for, y’know that?”

She sits, sheet pooling forgotten at her waist. V props her face in one hand and watches her fondly as she inhales the stew prepared by this week’s rotation of cooks. Judy can’t look at her directly or else her stomach flips so hard it makes it impossible to keep eating. “I try. You deserve the best.”

The technician flushes, it spilling over her chest. “Jeez, what’s gotten into you? First you accost me in bed, now this?”

She expects another sappy declaration or smarmy comeback – instead, V’s expression clouds over momentarily, the merc turning to roll onto her back with a sigh. Judy slowly stops chewing. “V? Everything okay?”

It takes V a little too long to respond. “Nova.”

“Don’t give me that. Did…” Remembers Maiko’s cutting glance, pinpoint accurate, boring into the back of her neck. “Did I say somethin’?”

V turns to look at her, the grey sheet looking even more washed out against the richness of her sandy skin. “No, Jude. Got zero to do with you. Promise.”

She doesn’t turn back on her side, but she blindly reaches out, squeezes Judy’s knee. Her metal fingers are still warm from where they’d spent time inside her.

(Remembers V’s face, streaked with blood, coming back out of Clouds. Gold baseball bat with nasty bolts at the tip, gore worked into their threads. How she looked so tired when she told Judy that she left Maiko alive… barely. How, when she woke up, she’d probably wish she didn’t.)

Judy lets out a quiet breath. “Then why the long face, _mi calabacita?_ Did you wreck Dakota’s servers again?”

V doesn’t even smile.

One beat, two. Judy starts eating again. If there’s one thing she’s learned about V, it’s that you can’t rush her. She runs on her own internal clock – a mystery to anyone but herself.

“Panam’s still avoidin’ me.”

Judy’s eyebrow arches. “Seriously? It’s been a week.”

“I _know_ ,” V groans, slinging her free arm over her eyes. “I tried to talk to her at lunch and she basically ran away from me! I’m at the end of my rope here.”

“Expected a little more chill from the leader of the biggest nomad tribe around.”

“That’s the thing!” This coleslaw V brought her feels crunchier than normal – is this real cabbage? “She usually _is_ chill. Sorta. I mean… she’s a real hothead, sometimes, but I’m used to the women in my life havi’ a temper.”

Judy uses the flat end of her fork to poke her side – V grins, entirely too charming, one eye peeking out from the crook of her elbow.

“This ain’t that. She’s not mad, I don’t think. She’s just… I dunno. All worked up over jack shit.”

Halfway to opening her mouth, V points over Judy’s shoulder. She turns. A full cup of water sits next to the bed, one lonely ice-cube bobbing in the center.

Sometimes, after sharing a mind under the waves, Judy swears V can read her thoughts.

(Or she just knows her. Doesn’t know which one is scarier.)

“Wish I could talk to her and set it straight.”

A trickle of water dribbles down Judy’s chin as she tries not to laugh, fails miserably. V’s eyebrow rises as her output mops it up with the sheet.

“Just you, doing anythin’ straight,” Judy teases, “no wonder it ain’t working.”

“Shut it. Women that are immune to my roguish good looks and stellar personality do, sadly, exist. Not that you’d know anything about that.”

Instead of rising to the obvious bait, Judy’s head tilts in that way it does, her hair brushing her shoulder. “Really? I thought you guys had, y’know,” she wiggles her eyebrows, “before.”

“Wh—Panam?” V laughs, tipping her head back, careless like the thought is absurd. “I tried to make a move on her once. It wasn’t anything serious, long before me and you started talkin’ like that, but I figured why not, right? You’ve seen her.”

She snorts. “Mmn.”

“Made it clear she wasn’t interested in me like that and we moved on. That connection was still there, what made us into such great choombas, but… sometimes people don’t like somethin’, and that’s cool. You can be important to people in different ways. She… uh, reminds me of Jackie. A little bit.”

A small, nostalgic smile flickers across V’s face. “They would’ve liked each other. He would’ve _loved_ you.”

V hadn’t talked much about the loud, hulking man that came with her to Lizzie’s the first time. Judy remembers only snatches of him; his jacket, his hair, his thundering laughter. How easy they leaned on each other, how his hand settled on her shoulder like it belonged there. 

It might’ve felt like years, but it’s only been a few months since she watched the life drain from his eyes. V swallows, looks down – Judy knows that expression like a knife to the chest.

“I know, V. I love him already.”

Her merc smiles, this fragile, wobbly thing. Judy puts her plate aside and slinks forward to wrap V up in a tight embrace. “And don’t worry ‘bout Panam. I’ll talk to her.”

“Jude, no, s’okay. I know the only thing you hate more than men is tryna make conversation with strangers.”

Laughter burbles from Judy’s chest like a song. “Very true, _mi_ _corazón_ , but I’d do anythin’ for you. Besides, Panam hasn’t been a stranger since she delta’d your sorry ass out from under the tower.”

But V isn’t laughing, looking at her with an expression so deep Judy could drown in it. “Say that again.”

“Say what?”

“You know what.”

She replays their conversation back in her head – her mouth curls, slow, sweet around the edges. “I’d do anythin’ for you?”

And then V’s on her, plate hastily relocated to the floor; hands slipping over her ribs, knee between hers, breath warm and damp over her collar. Judy stretches herself out, body unfolding for her lover, naked feet sliding up V’s calf like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

 _Second_ most natural. Dragging her hand through V’s hair, leaning into the hot, heavy breath by her ear – that’s the first.

“Again,” V murmurs, her teeth in Judy’s throat.

She gasps and arches against her, legs parting, letting V settle between them. “Anything, Val.”

Can’t find the words and string them together right, not when V’s all around her, over her, her tongue dragging over the bruising she left behind. Hopes she doesn’t need to, hopes her body is crying out: _anything, always, yours yours_ ** _yours_**.

* * *

Panam curses as she fumbles her screwdriver for the third time that night.

It’s not her fault, really. Endless sand coalesces in the panels of the panzer, gritting up the seams, making the threads holding it together stiff and slow to turn. Darkness flickers soft in the gaps between the lights of the monitoring equipment, casting shadows over what she’s supposed to be fixing. Half of this is from touch alone – too stubborn to turn on the main lamp.

To save the generator, she reasons with herself. They’ve been low on gasoline lately.

_(Sure.)_

Her wrist aches from the repetitive motion. Sweat sprouts along the hollow of her spine, her neck, under her arms and jaw, her palms. Usually, she’d use her drill, but in the great exodus east from Night City, she’d lost it in the commotion and Mitch had taken to hiding his when he knows she’ll be here overnight.

Figures. Yet another thing that fucking city took.

Panam wipes her brow with her forearm, doing little more than smearing dust over her forehead and into the roots of her hair. They’ve been more or less mobile for over a month at this point, and maybe she doesn’t shower as much as she should, but why would she waste water in a desert? It’s not like she’s sharing a bed with someone to complain about it.

 _(And the showers are communal_ , whispers that part of her brain she’s been beating back for nearly a week, _so if you go, you might run into—)_

Panam’s screwdriver slips out of the groove. Her knuckles scrape on the metal, opening them up, and she swears as her fingers reflexively uncurl.

She’s not nearly quick enough to catch her tool, watching helplessly as it rolls under the panzer.

Dust howls outside from the closed flap of her tent, kicking up the pages from an ancient manual she dug out of her lockbox, sending dust into her eyes.

To her horror, they start to water.

“Enough of that,” she grunts, snatching the creeper from the wall, tossing it down with more force than necessary. Its wheels don’t work great in the soft sand – Panam flops down on the board and digs her heels in to shove herself under the vehicle. It’s still a mess under here, a shit-show of scrapes and stains and scoured paint, but they just haven’t had the time to fix it back up yet. It runs, and that’s what matters.

“Just need some TLC,” Panam announces, patting the underneath affectionately. “Hard to rest when you’re used to seeing action, huh?”

(She definitely knows the feeling.)

Maybe if she takes this panel off, she’ll be able to reach the recalibration sensors without having to worm through the gears from above…

As the new-old routine goes, she quickly loses herself in her work. Her bedroll sits pristine in the far corner of the tent. A fine layer of dust sits overtop the undisturbed shell and she can hear V’s voice in her ear, nagging her, _we’re finally free, you need to stop workin’ yourself into an early grave, it’ll be there in the mornin’—_

It’s fine. That’s what coffee’s for.

Halfway through wrangling a bolt that does _not_ want to come free, the tent’s flap opens. Panam doesn’t pay it a second glance, knees bent and braced against the bottom of the panzer, knuckles tight on her wrench.

Too small, doesn’t grip properly. Panam lets out a growl of frustration.

“Mitch, hand me the titanium torque, would ya?”

Rummaging from the far end of the tent. It bumps into her hip a moment later, the right size on the first try, and she finally wiggles the faulty hardware free. It’s cracked all around the seams, jagged and sharp. Millitech issue. No wonder it didn’t stand up against the sands.

“If you’re asking about the nitro,” Panam strains to unthread the second bolt, “answer’s still no until we can replace the lines. Turning into cooked synth-chicken isn’t high on my list of priorities.”

“Good thing I’m not asking ‘bout the nitro, then.”

That’s not Mitch.

Panam drops the bolt on her eyebrow and nearly splits the damned thing open. “ _Fuck!_ ” she barks, the last syllable bitten off so it sounds more like _fuh_ – explosive, sharp between her teeth — twisting her head away reflexively as her pride smarts as much as her face.

Black and white boots (used to be black n’ white, now brown, caked with mud and dirt in the way only a nomad’s are) fill her new perspective. Leather creaks, the light cutting off so the most Panam can see is the glitter of chrome over shaved scalp, arms draped loosely over bent knees.

Judy smirks, not quite smug but sly all the same. “Hey, Panam.”

“Hey—” Panam clears her throat. Sand must be making her mouth dry. “—Judy.”

“You ready to stop sulkin’ and talk about it?”

She considers crawling into the Basilik from beneath and never coming out. Considers bashing her face in with the wrench. Considers—no. Can’t lie, can’t pretend. That won’t work. Not when Judy’s looking at her like this, so steady, iron-eyed; fractured-folded-forged again in Night City’s unholy flame. Too used to people hiding from the truth.

Panam sighs. “Fine.”

Hands around her ankles, and she holds her breath, resists the urge to kick. With a surprising display of strength, Judy sweeps her from under the panzer in one (relatively) smooth motion.

Panam squints into the new light – she sits up slow, like she can delay it a little longer, like her heart isn’t suddenly hammering in her chest. Why is this so hard for her? They’re both adults.

Judy studies her for a second. “She coming along?”

“Peachy,” Panam says, unable to stop her hands from twisting over her wrench. “Power system’s still garbage, but we got the back-ups running so I don’t stop and play mechanic every time someone wants to use the turret.”

“You mean _you_ got the back-ups running,” Judy raises an eyebrow, lingering on the grease-stains over Panam’s jaw, “and the new targeting soft, and the auto-threat detection. Think the clan’s forgotten you exist ‘cause you never leave your hole.”

“Is it bad that I like to be prepared?”

If there’s a little bit of bite to it, Judy doesn’t comment. Just reaches under her chair into a previously unnoticed cooler to pull out a cold, green bottle. She offers it blindly, already going for another.

Panam takes it and twists the cap off between her belt with one practiced flick of her wrist. It pings into the dirt, her hands grateful to hold something cool, fingers worrying the label. The condensation masks the sweaty imprint of her palms.

She tips it gratefully to Judy as she takes a drink.

“We already got enough firepower to outgun Millitech _and_ Arasaka, if those corpo-rats could even find us.” Judy takes a little more time to get it open, choosing instead to use a rusty multi-tool that’s seen better days. “And even if they did, we got somethin’ they never will.”

“What’s that?”

“V.”

There’s a truth to that – even mostly-dead, bleeding out of half her orifices, the mercenary tore through the tower in a whirlwind of unblinking destruction. When Panam closed her eyes, she could still see Adam Smasher’s head blown into nothing more than chunks of pale blood and shrapnel at V’s feet.

“She’s fought enough,” Panam says instead, “she deserves a break.”

Judy hides a strange smile behind her bottle. “Yeah, she does,” she murmurs, tenderness lacing every letter. Warmth spills from her, overfull at her output’s mere mention, sunny ocean water sloshing out of her ribs and the two cupped hands they create in her chest.

Love looks good on her, Panam thinks. Not that she knew her much before.

(Not that she needed to – one look at her Mox tattoos tells her all the important pieces, how hard she had to be until she could start to be soft.)

“So do you,” Judy continues, snapping Panam from her staring contest with rose blooming along Judy’s neck. “Just ‘cause you’re the boss doesn’t mean you should work yourself to the bone.”

Panam sighs and presses her bottle back to her mouth. “Is that why you’re here? Carol put you up to this?”

“You know why I’m here, choom.”

She grimaces and looks away. Judy’s gaze on her makes her want to crawl out of her own skin – she realizes she’s being childish, maybe, but she can’t help it. Can never help it when V’s involved.

“You’re avoiding us,” Judy says mildly as Panam takes another big sip to fill the gap. “Being kinda obvious ‘bout it, too. Thought nomads were supposed to be more laidback than this.”

“It’s—”

_—knocked too softly, tent flap misaligned; V, her silhouette half-carved from shadow, head tilted back and kiss-bitten lip caught between her teeth, cybernetic fingers wound tight in Judy’s colourful hair kneeling between her leather-clad legs—_

“—complicated,” Panam mutters, dismayed that her beer is finished already as she tips the rest of it down her throat. Judy reaches down to toss her another and she takes it without looking.

“Why?”

Panam shoots her a sour look. Judy doesn’t budge, one sharp eyebrow cocked. “Dunno, just is.”

She twists the cap off in that same fluid motion again, bottle clinking as she brings it up too fast to her teeth. “Is it? Or are you just making it complicated? All I know is V’s been mopin’ all week, thinking her best choomba hates her now ‘cause she won’t even look her in the eye.”

Guilt twists Panam’s mouth into a frown. V’s tried to talk to her a few times – she always finds an excuse, a reason to not be alone, some asinine job that could easily be hoisted on another Aldecaldo. “I don’t hate her.”

“Really? You’re doing a piss-poor job of showin’ it.”

Judy isn’t angry, not really, but there’s a heat underneath her words. V’s told her enough stories about that spitfire temper of hers that this probably counts as being (blunt, always, but) gentle.

Panam can appreciate that. Sometimes, it takes a little blunt-force trauma to knock some sense into someone so gonk-headed as her or V, so she swallows down the reflexive barb that sits on her tongue, sharp and ready to shoot like a threatened manticore. Sighs instead.

“I know, I know. I’m being stupid.” Panam rests her bottle on her swollen brow. Judy’s shoulders relax minutely once she realizes there’s no impending fight, taking a sip of her own beer. Wind whistles through the distant canyons outside and fills the space between them. “Can’t tell you why it’s so difficult. Usually, I’d be the first one to file it away as blackmail material next time she gets real bull-headed with me, but never had a choom like V before. Feel… awkward, somehow.”

“Like catchin’ family in the act? Done that, always terrible.”

Panam pulls a face. “Not quite. Doesn’t make me wanna hurl, at least.”

Living on the road most of her life meant little time for subtlety and littler room for privacy. Panam was more than used to walking into something she couldn’t unsee – or being the one seen. But with V… it was… different.

Heat, slow-roiling, bubbles in the bowl of her pelvis. Coals smouldering for a week, keeping her warm – stoked at the mere thought of them shrouded together in the dark.

“It’s just… every time I see her now, I get so nervous it makes me wanna tunnel back into Arasaka fucking Tower. You know what I told her last night, when she tried to talk to me after dinner? _I gotta go water my cactus_. My goddamn _cactus,_ Judy! What kind of ‘dorphs have I _clearly_ been snorting for that little gem?

“Do I have cyberpsychosis now? Is that it?” Panam takes a long, miserable pull from her beer. “Is my symptom just pure, chronic stupidity? It’s gotta be. There’s literally no other explanation.”

 _Tap-tap-tap_ goes the bottle on Judy’s lower lip. So lost in frantic energy, Panam doesn’t catch the thoughtful curl of her mouth against the glass.

“I can think of one or two.”

_—V’s lidded eyes meet hers, that liquid grin making Panam’s stomach swoop like someone curled a fist inside it, one shiny chrome hand tenderly cupping the back of Judy’s head and pulling her close until she chokes on the hint of hard length just visible from this angle—_

Panam inhales her drink. Her whole body flushes fuzzy, hot, pulse pounding in every inch of her as she coughs, beer splattering between her boots. “W-what? Hey, nononono, that’s not it. I’m not gunning for your output, Judy. I swear.”

“Never said you were.” Judy chuckles, mirth making her grin come out easy instead of sharp. It isn’t hard to see why V adores her so much. “Would be a much different conversation if that’s what I thought.”

Panam clears her throat loudly to stall for time, wiping her mouth. Doesn’t do much, not with Judy watching her like that, tracking the anxious bounce of her leg with a knowing eye. Knowing what? Panam isn’t sure—is very sure—doesn’t know if she wants to be sure. “Then, um… what do you think?”

Judy picks her next words cautiously. She almost seems to chew them before they come out, working her jaw, as if she could soften them up first – take away some of their weight. Her breath whispers along the rim of her beer bottle and makes one deep, lonely note. “Think I see a lot of teenage Judy in you, startin’ to realize shit about myself.”

Panam burnsburns _burns._ “I don’t—"

“Pan—“ Judy interrupts, the nickname slipping off her tongue so easy for the first time using it, “I’m not asking you to prove me right or wrong here. Just that… I get it, okay? I get it. If you’re not ready to talk about it, that’s okay too.”

Sweat smears over Panam’s brow as she sinks her face into her hands. The booming rush of blood in her ears is omnipresent, overpowering, making her dizzy-drop into her own thoughts like she’s going to explode into tiny pieces at the business end of V’s shotgun.

( _You’d like that, wouldn’t you, to get her shotgun in your—)_

One beat. Two. Silence stretches between them and Judy just waits, taking absent sips of her beer, slouched in her chair with one arm slung over the back. Her suspenders slip over her slender shoulder and kiss the curl of her exposed hip.

Then—

“How did you know?” Panam asks, quiet, eyes drifting unbidden over the other woman.

Judy hums, considering. A breeze leaks in from under the tent and ruffles her hair – Panam has to look away from how it frames her jaw; delicate despite her sharp angles, glass-spun and simultaneously knife-edged.

“Always did, kinda. Never really liked boys like that even though I grew up around ‘em. Didn’t think about it much ‘til I was… twelve, maybe? There was this girl, Jenni Chapman. For some reason, I always hated her damn guts,” she chuckles, exasperated. “Made my stomach feel weird and I took it out on her. Hid her creepy doll that she always carried around, pulled her hair when I sat behind her, wrote mean anonymous notes and put them in her desk. I’ve, uh… always had a bit of a temper, even when I didn’t know what I was mad about.

“And then I found myself pulling her hair ‘cause I liked the way it felt in my fingers. Stole her books so I could doodle stuff in the margins. Found any excuse to hang around longer, just so I could look at her. By the time I knew what was happening she already had a boyfriend and I dreamt about pushing him into old man Sampson’s yard, the one with three big dogs.”

Panam swallows, smiles a little. “Jealous, huh?”

“Can be. Though… a stable relationship’s done wonders on my perspective.”

“Did you ever get with her?”

“Jenni?” Judy scoffs. “Fuck no. Don’t blame her, either. Just ‘cause I had a big, gay crush on her doesn’t mean I didn’t treat her like scop. Kinda wish I could say sorry, to be honest.”

There’s a far-away look to her eyes as she fishes in her overall pocket for a smoke. Panam holds out her lighter – Saul’s, big and silver and rippling with dragon scales, supposed to be his son’s but he’s gone, too – and Judy leans in, the end of her dart glowing from where it’s already between her lips.

An acrid haze lingers in the tent. Judy props the flap open, allowing the cool night air to seep inside; distant sounds of quiet laughter and the crackling of a bonfire swirl around their feet, their ease a salve for Panam’s frayed nerves.

“That was a sweet story,” she murmurs, eventually, when her mouth isn’t quite so dry. “Not what I expected.”

The other woman looks back, a teasing slant to her grin. “Why, did you want something more relatable? First kiss? First feel? Oh, maybe first tangle with gay smut?”

Panam groans, presses her face back into her folded arms. “None of that is relatable to me right now.”

“You want it to be?”

_—that fucking smirk frozen in her head as she ran from their tent, burnt into the inside of her skull, desperately trying not to wonder what it would feel like to be the one on her knees, to have V’s hand hold her head down like that, absolutely no way of escaping her iron grip—_

She opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again. There’s no sirens but it feels like a trap.

Minutes must pass; Judy’s smoke burns down to a stub. She sparks another one, daisy-chaining them, her nimble fingers twirling it patiently between her knuckles. Maybe it should be beyond weird to be talking about this with V’s output, but… she likes Judy. Appreciates her quick wit, barbed tongue, wily grin like a fox. Hasn’t _really_ known her for more than a few months, maybe, but that doesn’t mean much; not when it took V one afternoon to make an unfading impression, three weeks to slip a hand up her thigh.

Time moves like liquid when the merc is around. Quicksilver.

“I get hot all over when I remember,” Panam admits, tremulous; a whisper, a confession in a crowded church. “Her. You. T-that, um, together. I’m not… I’m not used to—to _this_. To—with women. I’ve never really, you know.”

She clears her throat again. Her voice comes out wobbly, still. “Thought about it? Much? Before? But now I do. A lot.”

Judy softens, tilting her head just right so the harsh lamplight catches her optics, makes her eyes flash brilliant blue. “Believe me, I get how knowin’ V can… she changes people. Everyone she meets knows that. It’s, uh… it can be a lot to take in sometimes.”

There’s a smile on her mouth as she says it, gentle without her even realizing. Makes something squirm in Panam’s chest – not unpleasant, though, not painful. Just… new. Fragile but terribly strong.

She exhales hard, out her mouth, hot with panic and pressure all cramped up inside. “If I promise to say sorry and stop being awkward, can you not tell her? About—” her hand gestures lamely between their bodies, “—I don’t want to ruffle any feathers, and I have the tribe to focus on right now, and she has you and I really like you both—not, uh, like that!—but you know, as chooms, _really_ great chooms—”

“Hey, breathe.”

Judy knocks her foot against Panam’s crate, jostling her. The movement breaks her from whatever terrible mental spiral brewing _there_ , and she takes a deep, fortifying breath, nearly gasping.

“Listen,” Judy sighs, putting her empty bottle down and reaching for another. “—wait, first, can you open this?”

Panam wordlessly cracks it. The cap pings off like shot from a pellet gun.

Both of them take a long, long drink in silence.

“Okay.” Only now does she curl her foot back under her chair, and Panam finds herself missing the proximity. “I originally only came here to get V to stop lookin’ like a kicked puppy every time you ran off on her. It was gettin’ kinda ridiculous.”

No denying that. Panam sighs, takes another sip. She hasn’t eaten in hours and feels it in the way a warm, loose buzz works its way through her fingers, toes, the tip of her nose.

“But I like you, Panam. I really do. Didn’t wanna at first, maybe, but you’ve done right by V in every way that counts, and you’re still at it it every day we stay in Tuscon.”

Panam sits in the warm seep of her praise, hair prickling at the back of her neck. She can’t steep in it too long without feeling gooey inside. “You _like_ me? Fuck, I should’ve called you on the holo days ago and got it on tape.”

“Shut up,” Judy pushes her box again, “don’t make me regret this.”

“By all means.”

“Like I was saying, I get it. Been where you are now. No matter what you end up decidin’, it sucks, but… I’ve been told it sucks less when you aren’t alone.”

Sympathy flashes through Panam, pressing her toes into the leg of Judy’s chair, so close their legs nearly touch. That vulnerable expression flickers over her face, just for a second – just long enough for Panam to see it – before it’s gone, Judy taking a deep drag to smother it.

“I’ll send you some presents,” she says, lazily trading smoke from mouth to nose, a few tendrils curling up to frame her dark eyes, “my treat. See if you like ‘em.”

Presents? Mischief tiptoes through Judy’s tone, peeking at her from the sly slant of her perfect cat-eye… what did V say she did at Lizzie’s, again? Braindances?

XBDs, right? Which—oh.

_Oh._

Panam nearly knocks the crate over when she gets up. Judy doesn’t move, unsurprised and smug about it, as the other woman hurriedly looks around for nothing important. “Thanks, Judy. That’s, um, really great of you. I should get going now.”

“Sure.”

“Not that I’m not grateful – I am! – and I’m sure I’ll like what you send me b-because you have good taste! Not because—okay, um, yep. Thanks. Gonna go now.”

“’kay. Good talk.”

“Uh-huh!”

She moves like V does when her Kerenzikov activates, wings on her heels to get the _fuck_ out of this tent, when Judy grabs her by the wrist. It freezes her in her tracks – her breath catches, everything narrowed down to how warm Judy’s fingers are on her skin.

“If you do like them….”

There’s a beat, a second where Judy stops. Where she looks up, studying Panam like she’s seeing through her, _into_ her, weighing something on an invisible scale. Can she feel her heartbeat thundering under her fingertips?

“… let me know. V’s birthday is next month.”

( _What.)_

As if Panam had never started moving at all, Judy releases her and stands up, leaving her dumbfounded in the middle of the tent. She stares as the smaller woman picks up the empty bottles like she didn’t just drop a grenade wrapped in five-layer encryption at Panam’s feet. 

“Good talk,” Judy reiterates, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Later, Panam.”

“Wait—”

But she’s already gone.

Panam numbly sits back down. The rest of the beer in the cooler rattles – she pulls one out on autopilot, cracking it open like all the others, and brings it up to her mouth.

Her holo dings.

Judy’s name pops up on the screen, freezing the bottle halfway.

_Judy: you should teach V the trick with your belt >:3_

_it would be hot._

Panam holds her breath until she can’t, until her heartbeat pulses in her ears and she’s squirming, hot-faced and burning and dizzy. And only after that, trying and failing to strangle the fluttering in her chest, does she take a long, long drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://yamino.tumblr.com/post/639638169429639168/i-love-confused-bi-panam-please-let-her-date-the
> 
> the inspiration behind it all.


	2. a crisis in infinite parts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panam and V make up, but that doesn't come without its own unique challenges. Or complications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. so this chapter was supposed to be about the same size at the last one. LMAO, as if. I knew the plot would reveal itself eventually and here it is, hence why it's so long... and also the unexpected smut. we earn our E rating here, ladies and gents. thank you for everyone's interest and kind words. I don't think I've written so quickly in a long, long time. I just love them all so fucking much.

Dawn’s just begun to creep-crawl over the horizon, still cut from the sky by red rock, when V wakes.

Sleep hasn’t been restful since Jackie died; less so, even, since Johnny left. Would’ve thought the lack of his nagging would’ve been helpful, but without him, an absence yawns in the forefront of her thoughts, occupies her entire body. _His_ body. Crying out for _his_ ghost, not the one left behind.

Sometimes, it feels like she’s missing chunks of herself, like’s she’s only half-here. Other times, it just hurts.

Right now… it hurts.

V slowly sits up. Her optics fuzz, slant, taking too much time to adjust to this new angle. Leans forward more than she wanted and pitches, having to put an arm out to steady herself. God, her fuckin’ head.

(Flashes of Night City; blue-purple-red-green, neon, glittering over chrome; her hand between a strange girl’s legs in the car, mouth caught in a familiar smirk; Rogue’s sky-blue hair and wry smile, just a hint of pity but hiding it so well that V passes it off as concern.)

“Go through ‘nother bender without me, huh?” V murmurs humourlessly.

It dissipates in time – it usually does. V presses her fingers to her temple and counts, slow, the thud of her pulse ricocheting through her skull. Outside, the desert chirps and rattles and sighs, awake with her, existing together but separate all the same. Despite there being little save sands and rock and dust, everything’s shrouded in a thick blanket of dew, seeping in through the edges of their tent that don’t meet quite right. Doesn’t make much sense, but… she never knew nature to be so _alive_.

As if called, the cot creaks as Judy rolls over, curling her slender arms around V’s waist. Her face presses into her spine, lips smushed into a sleeping kiss along the dimple of her hip. “Mmmmn?” she hums, muzzy and low, still dreaming but missing her anyway.

V smiles, one hand reaching to run her fingers along Judy’s jaw. “S’okay. Head just hurts.”

Her voice wakes something in Judy, if only temporarily. “Meds?”

“Not yet.”

“M’kay.”

Her fingers scratch gentle over Judy’s scalp. Rhythmic, barely-there – V sits and drifts just outside her body, an impartial stranger to the pain inside it. Happens easier since Arasaka. No soul left, maybe, hole in her head wider since Alt pried Johnny out, left part of V behind like she said she would, just… not how any of them expected. A chunk of code wrapped in meat and metal that doesn’t even want her anymore.

Bothers her, sometimes. In those sleepless nights. Stares at the canvas, missing the drone of the dreaming city, and wonders if this is how Johnny felt in the beginning, not quite settled in the skin he was wearing. Trying to decide if he was still human after all or just a machine masquerading as one.

Wonders if he felt it becoming his, slowly, just like she feels it forgetting her.

Here, though, with Judy wrapped warm around her waist, that reality seems far away. A different universe. In this one, V stays, uncharacteristically still and quiet, moving her hand across Judy’s nape to count her breaths in the dark.

They even out again long before the sky changes from purple to blue to pink; baby-blush and cotton candy and all the in-betweens, the tips of Judy’s hair when V washed the dye out too early, the colour of her cheeks when V laughed and laughed and called her the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

So V settles, and she sits, and she waits. Twilight comes and goes – she was always told that was the witching hour, the thinnest veil, the weight of different worlds coming together. Steeps in all the other directions her path could’ve taken.

Doesn’t care to walk them, though. Not if this is where hers ended up going all along.

Light laps at her toes when she can finally open her right eye without squinting. Pain in her head reduced to an ache, beaten back to give her more room inside her body, returning some of her thoughts. Not all of them. Never all of them, these days.

Only when sun spills over her thighs does Judy finally stir, most of her body already out of the sheet. Barely been bright more than a few minutes and it’s already stifling under the canvas.

“Hey,” she mumbles, all sleep-dark and drowsy, “you okay? Been sittin’ there for hours.”

V turns her head, neck clicking, stiff enough that she has to force it. “Really?”

“Mhm.” A kiss to her spine, feather-light. Shadow drapes over Judy’s form and weaves a new sheet to cover her.

“M’fine,” she says, means it despite how her optics are still a little misaligned, colours not quite the same in each eye. Sighing, she knocks her fist over the Relic’s port, just once, hard enough to send a bolt of pain into her forehead.

They flicker, readjust. Her left side blinks out before rebooting correctly.

Judy’s frowning at her when she can see again, that familiar ghost that haunts them both. V smiles, shakes her head, leans down to kiss between her brows. “Promise.”

“You should go see the ripperdoc, babe.”

“Yeah.” They both know she won’t. “I know.”

Judy leans past her, dips her hand into V’s discarded leather jacket. Presses her pill bottle into her open palm. “Don’t forget.”

V blinks – she’d already forgotten. “Thank you,” she murmurs, making no move to open it, if only to hear Judy’s soft huff, the gentleness of her fingers taking the lid off for her.

“One or two today?”

She rolls her neck, glancing at Judy’s arm. The words of her tattoo drip together like oil. “Two, please.”

Instead of tipping them in her hand, Judy puts them to her lips. V opens her mouth, holds them on her tongue, takes the water offered to her. Tender, reverent – a ritual in the dark.

“What’s on the menu today?” Judy murmurs, eyes half-open. Content to sit with her cheek pressed tight against V’s ribs.

“Uh, eggs, I think.”

“Meant your menu.”

“Oh.” V chuckles, rubbing her thumb against Judy’s shaved temple. “Dunno. Might fuck around with my guns for a bit. Need somethin’ to do with my hands.”

“I could give you somethin’,” Judy murmurs, teasing, a lazy kiss against V’s hipbone.

“Tonight. It’s too hot.”

“Ugh, I know.” Judy sighs, her breath warm over V’s bare thigh. “Aren’t we supposed to be settlin’ somewhere soon? Been dreaming about the bootlegged AC I’m gonna rig up.”

“Today’s our last stretch, apparently. Some town not too far off.”

“Thank god. Can’t believe I miss my apartment.”

“ _Do_ miss your shower,” V hums, “not so much your tiny bed.”

“It had its uses.”

“What, like an excuse to cuddle?”

Judy scoffs. “Please, I don’t need an excuse for that.” Presses her shins against V for emphasis, sleepy curl of her mouth tucked against V’s side.

God, V _loves_ her.

“You never will,” V promises, meaning every word. Judy hears, in that way she does, smile widening before she buries it into the blanket.

A beat. One, two, then—

“Get outta here,” she mumbles, barely heard through the fabric, “before I keep you here forever.”

“I’d let you,” V laughs, standing now. She’s only dizzy a moment before she rights herself.

Judy doesn’t answer, but her eyes say _I know, I know, I know._

V puts her leathers on one leg at a time. Johnny’s leathers. Part of her wonders if it’s morbid, to wear his clothing, but a bigger part of her misses him. She stops halfway through buttoning her fly to reach up, trace the scrap of Jackie’s coat sewn into hers. That and his book… the only things she has left of him.

(Well, not the _only_ things, but the Arch doesn’t do so well in the sand. Misty’ll take good care of it while she’s gone.)

Doesn’t even notice the tugging at her front until Judy’s done, kiss placed over her navel and belt fastened. Tank top resting within arms reach, sunglasses on the lone table, boots tucked by foot of the bed.

“I’m gonna hang with Carol today,” Judy murmurs, as if that isn’t what she does almost every day, “if you wanna meet up for dinner?”

“It’s a date.”

Her output chuckles, leaning down, cracking open the icebox sitting next to the bed to press a can of RealWater into V’s unoccupied hand. “Trust me, if it was a date, I’d come up with something better.”

V’s ghost settles back into its shell under Judy’s attentive touch. “It’s perfect as long as it’s with you,” she says, teasing but also earnest, gently running her fingertip over the chrome secured to her scalp before stepping away to wiggle into her tank. Shrugs the leather jacket overtop, sunglasses slipping over her nose. One finger cracks the can and she takes a long drink – was her mouth always so dry?

“God,” Judy groans like it hurts her, “that’s so gay.”

“Mm, but also true.”

V bends down to give Judy one last kiss, lingering, savouring the way the other woman leans into her mouth. Night can’t come fast enough.

“I love you,” V says, easy but serious about it. Only recently started being so bold.

Judy grins. “Love you too.” She taps their foreheads together, lightly, not enough to fuck up her optics again. “I’m serious, though. Go before I handcuff you to the bed.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” V grabs Mox from beside the table, throws her own smile over her shoulder. They both remember what happened the last time Judy tried to tie her down.

(“Fuck,” she laughs, tiniest bit of blood on her palms, cuffs still around her wrists but the bedframe bent broken by her head, “guess it’s a good thing we’re movin’?”)

Not far from here to the panzer’s tent. Won’t roll out ‘til after lunch anyway, a few hours to work on her own projects. V swings by the canteen and charms the lone nomad there into piling her plate high with what’s left of breakfast. Her appetite precedes her, it seems, as he crams an excessive amount of salted soypork and potato hash onto the small space.

With a fork between her teeth, she slips into the panzer’s tent. Apart from Mitch kneeling by the front, flap long since rolled up to keep the breeze coming through, it’s empty. She wedges herself in the table behind the computers and rolls out her oilcloth.

“Mornin’,” he grunts, reaching into the vehicle up to his shoulder.

“Mornin’,” V replies. Even in the shade she keeps her sunglasses on – kicks back in her chair, feet up, watches him swear fruitlessly around his burnt-out cigarette stub. Takes a bite of her breakfast, then two, polishing off more than half before she realizes it.

Only after scraping her plate clean does she cock her head. “Need help?”

“Nah. Need to stop livin’ in a goddamn desert.”

She hefts Mox onto the table, runs her fingers along the new titanium-graphite plating. Doesn’t look too much like what Judy gave her ages ago, not with the months she’s had to think and the eddies she’s had to burn. Oddly matte for a gun, obsidian-black, chunky and intimidating if not for the colourful graffiti covering every visible inch.

Grips it, turns it sideways. Hollowed out to make room for the thermal-induction barrel and ionic generator that turns her bullets into a marriage of V’s two favourite concepts: liquid and fire.

She pulls the pump down and listens to it whine. A faint, purple glow snakes underneath Judy’s artwork, heat beginning to gather between her hands. It’s gritty, slow to load.

V sighs. “Hear fuckin’ hear.”

She makes short work of disassembling Mox. Sparks snap on her fingertips, lighting up her face – long time ago, V wore goggles for this kind of work, gloves, but it just… doesn’t hurt like it did. Hasn’t for a while. Wonders if this could be considered a fortunate side-effect or a warning.

Easy to lose herself in the work, vanish into her own head. Her internal cochlear implants play music she doesn’t recognize and she bobs along to it. Judy’s soundtrack, she thinks, given to her one day and then the whole world just went to shit.

Doesn’t hear the throat clearing behind her. Not the first, second, or third time – not Mitch’s smothered, snorted laugh either – halfway through peeling open Mox’s power core when there’s a tap on her shoulder.

“Jesus—!”

V fumbles her gun, nearly dropping it. A shower of sparks dust over her knuckles.

“A little warnin’ next—”she turns, already scowling, but the words die halfway to her mouth, “—time.”

Panam rubs the back of her neck. “My bad.”

“No, that’s, uh— it’s fine. Hey.”

So lame. V cringes.

But Panam just smiles, awkward and maybe a little strained, grinding her heel into the dirt. “Hey, V. You—you good?”

Not sure how to answer that, these days, but Vik’s medication kicked in a half hour ago so she says, “yeah,” and means it, putting Mox’s frame back on her oilcloth. “Are you?”

She says it carefully, almost afraid of the answer. Panam looks at her for a long moment before setting her jaw in that way she does, strong and stubborn, made up her mind about something.

“I’m sorry,” Panam blurts out, and V’s lucky she put Mox down before she dropped her.

_(“Fixed your choombatta problem,” Judy announces cheerfully, landing in V’s unsuspecting lap with a whomp. “Turns out she’s just socially awkward. Who woulda thought?”)_

“You—” V isn’t sure she’s ever heard Panam apologize unprompted, “hm… what?”

“For, you know, running away like some scandalized virgin. And then avoiding you until it got infinitely more awkward for both of us.”

Slow, V’s lips curl up. “Avoidin’? More like you weavin’ around me like… oh, what’s his name… that heavyweight champ? Krazy Glue?”

“Razor Hugh,” Panam returns instantly – she always did love her fights, “I’d congratulate you for _finally_ making an accurate sports reference, but he got his ass beat a little while ago… some off the books thing. All his sponsors dropped him like rotted pigeon eggs.”

“What a shame. A for effort?”

“I’ll give you a B+.”

“Deal.”

V holds her hand out to shake. Panam takes it, grip firm and just a little sweaty, and manages to keep a straight face for all of five seconds before they both dissolve into laughter.

“Wow,” she hums appreciatively, “an apology _and_ you laughed at my shitty joke? What did Judy _say_ to you?”

V tugs at her, playful, but Panam doesn’t resist as expected. Stumbles into her instead, knees knocking knees – her free hand shoots out to land behind V, edge of the table. Mox rattles.

“You mean—” Panam smells like sweet freshwater in a desert, always with an undercurrent of engine oil. Hair still damp from a (relatively) long shower. Holds herself there, in V’s space, brow knitted, “—she didn’t tell you?”

If Panam’s hand was a little sweaty before, it’s a lot sweaty now. Grip that would make a corpo blush. Would _definitely_ hurt anyone but V. “No? Should she’d’ve?”

“N-no! No.” Panam looks sideways, head tilting with it, braid falling into her eyes. “I’m just… surprised. Used to people sharing everything with their outputs. Communication, or whatever.”

V chuckles, tilting their joined hands. Shades not too far off from each other. Despite her sort-of-synthetic skin, the scars criss-crossing V’s knuckles are very real. “Pan, we’re still our own people. I trust her even if she doesn’t give me a full briefing on everythin’.”

Her friend hums, not looking quite convinced.

“C’mon,” V teases, “surely you’ve kept secrets from an input before. You’re no saint.”

Doesn’t get her the middle finger or half-hard swat she’s expecting. Panam sighs, head tilting the other way, more braids falling out of her looser-than-usual bun. One trails over V’s collar like a paintbrush. “Never really had an input before. Not someone I’d confide in like that, anyway.”

Still looking away, but like this, easier to see the momentary… not bitterness. Not angry enough. Loneliness, maybe, a little closer to the complex web at its heart; resignation, exhaustion, disinterest with an edge to it. Far too much for such a good person.

Clears her throat when V doesn’t respond, tries to lean back – caught by the grip around her, tight, keeping her in place. No chance against these cybernetic hands. (Don’t forget the non-cybernetic biceps.)

Looks back, cautious. Still taken by surprise at the unhappy look on V’s face, the burning intensity of it.

“Seriously? That’s some bullshit.”

“What?” Panam blinks. “Why?”

V looks at her flatly, borderline offended. “’cause you’re fuckin’ hot, duh.”

When Panam pulls this time V lets her go, straightening up and stepping back, tickle from her hair lingering on V’s collar. “And also a good person deservin’ of happiness n’shit.”

Other woman half-holds a snort as she looks up to avoid looking forward. Plants her fists on her hips, can’t hide how her fingers tremble as she tucks them away. “Sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

“So I’ve been told,” V says, watching her scuff her boot into the dirt. “Part of my irresistible, borderin’ irreversible charm.”

Panam’s mouth twitches. “So I’ve been told. Probably why I didn’t punch you when you felt me up.”

_—feet heavy in her lap and V rests her hands on her ankles, not shy about their placement, nimble fingers working firm magic and her voice rolling low and raspy in the way she knows women like; Panam’s striking figure cut from hundreds of shadowy pieces put together, how her eyes had flashed in the dark, a predator—_

V laughs, full-bodied. Her head rings with it. “Can’t blame a girl for tryin’, choom. Was gettin’ some real wonky signals for a second.”

“Ugh, you wish.”

“Hey, listen, what I wish is irrelevant. Sometimes people got preferences. That’s all there is to it.”

Not sure, exactly, why Panam still won’t meet her eyes. Leans in, elbows on her knees. “I can be your honorary input, if you want.”

 _That_ gets her attention. “ _What_?”

“Y’know, someone you can talk to. Let all those juicy secrets out if you get tired of carryin’ ‘em alone. It doesn’t matter if you’re not in a relationship, honest, but people can’t survive without some kinda connection.”

Panam looks at her like she’s insane. Gotten a few of those before. “Won’t Judy be mad?”

V rolls her eyes fondly. “Panam, you’re my best choomba. You saved my fuckin’ life – and you’re not done. She’ll be fine. If a joke title‘s enough to rock my relationship, it’s not nearly as sturdy as I thought.”

Panam concedes with a thoughtful nod. Impossible to miss the gears churning in her head, nearly fast enough to produce smoke. “Wouldn’t that make you my honorary output, then?”

V waves her hand dismissively. “Gender’s fake at best. So are labels. I pick whatever feels good in the moment.”

“Makes... sense.”

“Besides,” V smirks, running a hand down her side, “I’d say I’m very much a woman, no?”

“Okay, moment over,” Panam says, but she’s laughing, rubbing her face as if she doesn’t believe it, “thanks for that. Next time I catch you with your pants around your ankles I’ll just spray you with a hose.”

“I mean… they were around my hips, not my ankles.”

Someone clears their throat. V peers around Panam’s side, to Mitch standing there with a wrench and a pinched expression, evidently present for the whole thing and not sure if he’s supposed to make a comment. Things _really_ don’t stay secret for long in the nomad world.

“Don’t mean to interrupt,” he drawls, “but if you two are done flirting, I think we’re good to head out.”

Panam’s face twists. “We weren’t—”

“Thanks, Mitch,” V interrupts, gathering Mox back into her oilcloth to be cleaned another time. “You takin’ the panzer?”

“Nah. Got some residual issues, been told I shouldn’t pilot ‘til they clear. Tuned it up nice for you two, though.”

Sizable hole in the ground from Panam’s boot, now. “I was gonna talk to Cassidy about our ammunition.”

“And that’s gonna take the whole day?”

Shoots him a look that’s a touch too withering for the subject matter. V grimaces, rolling her neck from side to side, ground tipping a little as she does.

“Dunno if that’s a good idea. Head’s kinda fucked today.”

Panam’s glare extinguishes as it turns on her. “Shit, you okay? Need more meds? I can go—”

“I’ll be fine,” V interjects gently, “but I don’t think you’d appreciate sharin’ this headache.”

Mitch nods, sympathetic. “I can ask Carol. But y’know, sharing the neural load might actually help with that.”

Halfway to waving him off when Panam’s shoulders square, that same, stubborn set to her as earlier. “That true?”

“Uh-huh. Like chaining circuits. Scorpion used to carry my ass back when I was so fried I could barely put one foot in front of the other.”

Wind blows the soft, puff-ball clouds from the sun – V winces behind her glasses, shifts her head away.

Panam looks at her for a second. Nods. “Then consider it _our_ headache.”

“But—”

“Save it. If it helps, I’ll ride with you every day ‘til we fix your brain.”

There’s a dare in that flintlock stare of hers, eyebrow arched, drawing herself up so she’s just that tiny bit taller than V – knows better than to think the matter settled because she said so. Learning like Saul never did, implying the challenge so the issue doesn’t take her off-guard.

Pride thrums in V’s chest, vibrating, the wings of an insect beating around her heart. And using the Scary Leader Voice on _her_? Couldn’t be more flattered if she tried, contest dying on the tip of V’s tongue like it never existed at all.

“Might change your mind once we’re in, but… alright. Thanks, Panam.”

Clearly expected more of a fight – Panam blinks, staring at her, taking a little while to settle. “Yeah. Sure.”

When Panam doesn’t, V looks at Mitch. “Wanna put out the call?”

“Roger.”

It’s always a bafflingly quick affair, the Aldecaldos picking their shit up and moving along. The whole thing takes less than a half-hour before everything is wrapped and counted and loaded, before V’s climbing into the panzer, clumsily dropping down into her seat and buckling herself in. Her shitty little apartment took _weeks_ to clear out. Maybe they should write a self-help shard on organization – the nomads were never accused of being minimalists.

V can almost hear Johnny now, lying on top of the tank, arms laced behind his head. _They could call it The Mobile Method_ , he’d say. She chuckles with a groan. “Or the Scavenger Sweep.”

Panam glances at her, half-into her harness. “What’s that?”

But Johnny’s not here. He’s gone. V swallows, shakes her head, tries for a smile. “Just always impressed with how fast you pack up.”

“Oh, this? This is nothing. We can clear out faster than scavs flock to gunfire if we’re pressed.”

Power goes on. Lights flicker, screen blinking before settling, low hum around them. V tries to relax back into the seat. Darker in here, less piercing – jury’s out on if the panzer’s vibration helps or hinders. “Should’ve taken you to empty my place instead of Judy.”

“Why? Get too distracted by the bed?”

“No… well, yes. But also no. A half-hour nap turned into four, turned into missin’ the holo for the movers, turned into luggin’ all my shit by hand into Jackie’s storage locker.”

Neglects to mention that they were saying goodbye to her bed before they fell asleep. Some things aren’t relevant to a good story.

“Sounds about right. You have a knack at being late for everything.”

Takes a few minutes to get everyone in formation. V scoffs as they drift the panzer out into the sun, dust kicked up underneath them. “Excuse me? I was always waitin’ on _your_ ass to show up on gigs.”

“Can’t seem too eager, right?” Panam grins, fiddles with a few buttons, ignoring V’s indignant sputter as she jacks into the personal.

Her screen shivers with light. Panam’s eyes glaze over, just for a second, before she comes back to herself. “Okay, I think I’ve configured the sensory input enough. Go ahead.”

V shakes her head and connects. Her vision spins, snatched out of her body and swooped high in the clouds, before being dumped unceremoniously back into the panzer. Only there’s… an undercurrent, now. A stream from another direction that’s met her own, mixes warm waters with cold. V shivers.

Her headache immediately lessens. Panam winces, touches under her ear. “Damn, V. You live like this?”

She can almost taste the words in her own mouth as Panam says them. V rolls her neck, no longer worried about hurting when she does. “Today’s not a great day for me. It was worse earlier.”

“Good thing we’re in Tucson proper tonight, then.” Some small detours along the way, visits to other leads, and a few days spent circling around the area to scope out the best locations to stop. Their first pick had already been taken over by a group of undesirables – able to be rooted out, surely, but like vermin, they’d dug their nest deep. Too much work.

This next location is better situated, an hour east of the city with canyons at their backs, elevated just enough. Low chance of being ambushed, lower chance still of strangers running into them. With luck and a good wind they’ll arrive just in time for supper. “My contact’s excited to meet you.”

“Excited? Not usually the first word people use.”

Horns blare as the Aldecaldo convoy rolls out. They ease the panzer into a gentle glide, easily keeping up with the wheeled vehicles. “Not every day someone shows up with priceless stolen tech in their head.”

“Fair. You trust them?”

“Wouldn’t be driving halfway across the continent if I didn’t.”

“Halfway’s a bit of a stretch. No geography in nomad school?”

“Dick.” Panam flicks herself on the earlobe, laughs when V yelps. “Yeah, V, I trust him. Wouldn’t let him tinker in your head if I didn’t.”

There’s a swell of an emotion V doesn’t recognize, taking up space in her throat. Knows it comes from Panam, logically, who shifts uncomfortably in her chair, fingers tapping on the controls, but still surprised at how it strong it is… how visceral. Forgotten how twisted-tangled things get when sharing.

Silence. Twice, V feels words coming up on her tongue, not exactly sure who owns them.

Panam’s face twists like she ate something sour. “He’s probably the closest thing I had to an input.”

 _Not_ what V expected – she blinks, looks sideways. Visions of a lanky, dark-skinned man float across her mind’s eye, dressed in what could only be described as _seizure goth_ ; chains and dark fabric and strips of obnoxiously bright lights, baby dreadlocks sticking out at any angle, the glint of metal from his left arm slung over Panam’s shoulders. Scrawny, a little taller than Panam, but willowy.

V closes her eyes so she can look at the image a little longer. Can’t see _his_ eyes, covered by some goofy visor.

“Wow… didn’t think he’d be your type.”

“I don’t have a type. People are people.”

 _Gay_ , V almost says, but Panam looks more restless than ever. “Why’d you split?”

“Wanted different things. He wasn’t too excited at the prospect of life on the open road… city rat, through and through. Liked it too much to leave.”

“Oh, so I’m not the first person you propositioned? I’m hurt.”

Panam snorts. “First person who took me up on it. That’s what counts.”

A fluttering feeling in her gut – V rubs at it, absently, not unpleasant but still unsettling. “I remember when I thought I’d never leave the city.”

“Seem far away now?”

“Nah. Opposite. Every day I wake up, half-expectin’ to see Watson outside my grimy-ass window, but instead someone dumped me in the middle of the desert.”

Apart from her brief stint in Atlanta, Night City was all V ever knew. All she ever thought she’d know. She’s done too much insane shit recently to pretend like anything lasts forever, but it doesn’t make it any easier, leaving behind the one thing she thought would never change. So much for becoming a legend and dying at the ripe old age of thirty.

Might still get there, at this rate. V tries not to think about it.

“Don’t worry, V,” Panam says like she heard – oh, right, shared mindscape – and smiles, tries to not let it look unsure. Does a decent job, too. “He can help, I know it. Baby steps.”

Not too keen to think close about her impending organ failure. “Will he even help? Don’t wanna get involved in a lover’s spat – done that before. Left me hangin’ by my fuckin’ fingertips out a megabuilding window, buck-ass naked.”

“Okay… one,” one of Panam’s fingers tick up, “not lovers. Haven’t been _lovers_ – gag – for nearly a decade. Two,” another finger, “I literally just told you that he was excited to meet you. Three,” last one, Panam turning to V now, disbelieving, “how have I never heard that story before?”

V shrugs. “Never asked.”

“Not exactly a universal life experience, V.”

She grins lopsidedly. “I’m no universal life experience, either.”

Decides to tease, just a little, remembering the shouting and the slamming doors and the click of a revolver chamber sliding into place. Scrambling through the dark apartment, blind, still sweaty and shaky-limbed, trying her best not to knock anything over as she looked for a way out. Not _finding_ a way out – might’ve had to do with the fact that she was also hammered – and making one instead, cutting her hands on the edge of the window as she dangled fifty-something stories above the ground.

Panam shaking her head in amazement as her memory bleeds through; sharp wind on her shoulders, glass against her knees, heartbeat in her throat. Dropping six feet with nothing more than a prayer to catch the open window below her.

Scrambling inside and scandalizing the _fuck_ out of some normal family eating Sunday dinner.

“How are you not dead?”

“I ask myself the same thing every day.”

Lull in conversation and V thinks back a little further. Before they got caught. Surprised her legs held her up enough to run, in all honesty, when she’d just had her soul sucked out through her cock. About to get to the main course, rubber newly-applied and shiny with lube (not that they needed it) when the door opened.

She’d thought she was in love at the time. Hard not to be: nineteen and inexperienced, sleeping with someone else’s wife (in their bed!) who always promised _next time, I’ll tell him_ whenever they got between the sheets. Which was often.

Yikes.

Grown up from homewrecker since then, thankfully. Learned that lesson nice and early. Learned few other things, too, in those long hours awake; some things can only be taught through practice. Luckily, V’s always been dedicated.

Panam shifts, nose scrunching, pressing the throttle involuntarily as she readjusts. “Easy, tiger.”

 _Mindlink, right_. Fuck. Would’ve thought those months sharing her head with a ghost would prepare her better. V warms, rubbing her fingers over her brow. “Sorry. S’hard to filter sometimes.”

“A merc like you can’t compartmentalize?”

Doesn’t say what she thinks: that her head is full of holes, now, shit falling out from every direction, sand in a broken hourglass. Couldn’t keep it all apart if she tried. And god, has she tried.

Says instead, “Only the bad stuff.”

(And _god,_ has there been bad.)

A heaviness to that Panam knows not to prod. Instead, rubs her hand along the outside of her own thigh, sending the echo of it to V. Meant to be comforting – _is_ comforting, understanding – but nearly bites her tongue at the shock the phantom contact sends through her body.

They both jump in their seats.

V can’t focus on that right now, not with the two of them tied together, lock-stepped whether they want to share or not. Mind keeps cutting back to that apartment despite trying to wrench it away, an invasive weed in her memory.

“I’m—” the belly of the panzer suddenly seems very, very small, “—gonna boot up the drone.”

“Mm,” Panam grunts, deceptively calm for how savagely V can feel her beating back her own thoughts.

 _Typical V,_ Johnny’s ghost murmurs, _your cock gets you in trouble again._

What a trait to share.

V hurriedly ports into the drone’s interface, that familiar disorientation of changing bodies soon dampened by the new view of the horizon she has, perched high up on one of the trucks. A little while away from her _own_ stupid traitor body (and the mindlink) will do them both some good.

Doesn’t take long for the diagnostics to complete and the drone whirrs as it lifts, gingerly, from its mount. V keeps up with them easy – Judy took the whole thing apart a couple weeks back, reconfigured its entire layout, and now V could do _backflips_ if she needed to. Does a barrel roll instead, just a baby one. Dips out of the sky and hovers upside-down next to the truck’s window with a chirp.

Pane rolls down soon after, Judy’s grinning face appearing. “Hey, V,” she says in that way that makes V melt, “havin’ fun?”

V’s lights flash all available colours, dappling Judy in a daytime rave. She laughs, reaching out, rubbing her hand affectionately over V’s steel belly – can’t feel it in the typical sense, but that doesn’t matter.

“Good. You go check out that town, it’s just over the next ridge. I’ll be with you.” Datapad in her lap shows an identical view of what V sees. She trills, killing her thrusters to weigh into Judy’s hand more heavily, holding herself there for a few moments before she shoots into the sky.

Not that hard to find the town. Not much around, once you look at it all from on-high, all the spires and hills flattened out like a school diorama.

_Flies like a dream, doesn’t she?_

Judy’s voice fills her head. V hums, bobbing in the air.

_Glad you like. There’s no audio from you right now ‘cause you’re jacked into the panzer – still working on that. But I’ve got you aaaaaall to myself._

If V could, she’d flush. There’s a short pause, and then—

— _fine, fine. Not **all** to myself. Carol’d like to stress she’s here, too._

V does a quick loop, graceful. Judy chuckles. _Not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but I’ll pretend it’s rude._

Only takes a few minutes of full-speed flying to reach their destination. Their drone splits the sky like a comet now that it’s been fine-tuned – thirty-seven kilometers faster than before and still climbing, familiar metallic rattle dampened by the scrapped dyno-weave Judy punched into each and every crevice.

_Fire up the cloaking, V._

Her perspective ripples as the optical illusion comes to life, draping the drone in a blanket of glass. Seamless. V looks down at her own body and sees nothing but clouds and sunlight beaming through an open sky.

Makes her nauseous for a second, a strangely human-like emotion in a robot body, but the vertigo settles as she drops from the sky. Thirty to forty structures, on first glance – most still with their walls intact. Backed onto the edge of a gulch and half-hidden in the shadow of the canyon it intersects. No recent tracks or newer vehicles around.

_Go take a closer look, would ya? Not a big fan of surprises._

She descends, circling a few times. The convey’s just a distant speck on the horizon, black dots and plumes of dust, little more than ants crawling up a hill. One dilapidated saloon, a smattering of independent houses in varying states of ruin – nothing terribly exciting. One _huge_ truck stranded in the middle of the town’s main road (said loosely, there’s about four spanning the whole place) is the centerpoint and sole attraction amongst the debris.

_At least we don’t gotta pay rent. In NC, they’d be charging us two-hundred eddies a month for the privilege of havin’ three walls. Sand costs extra._

V floats her way through the town. If it was night, she could see why they’d be called _ghost_ towns; whole lives here, entire generations, their bones buried in nothing more than a wasteland. Something for passing scavengers to squat and muddy their boots on.

One tiny graveyard, only twelve graves. Had to cram entire families together. Which of the horsemen got them first – the wars, the plague, or the famine?

V turns to study the chapel. Simple thing, tall but narrow, bell knocked off its tower and resting half-sunk in sand and rock below. One single pane of stained glass still intact, gritty buildup covering all but the faintest of red from underneath.

Missing part of the roof, but… she likes it. Gives it some charm.

_You like it?_

The drone bobs up and down, chirping cheerfully. Judy laughs, low and soft, a fondness to it.

_Me too. Maybe we can call dibs._

Judy’s house… her house. Her and _Judy’s_ house, together, that they share. The two of them. Together.

Another very-human shiver goes through V, stomach flipping in her phantom throat. Hasn’t lived with an output before. Never got that far. And while she had full access to Judy’s apartment, it was still _Judy’s_ apartment. Here, though? Not so much.

Makes her feel light, disconnected from her real body but also the drone, free to sail into the air and never come down. Like she wants to shout it to the clouds, declare it to any wayward bird or wandering insect just to hear herself say it. More than that… she really, _really_ doesn’t want to fuck this up.

_V? You in there?_

V trills, doing a quick flip. _Alright, show-off. Go check the gulch for water… then come back to me._

With a command like that, how could V do anything else? She whizzes down the ravine faster than she left the convoy, spiralling down, down, deeper into the canyon. There’s a strange series of pipes and ladders that run up the side of the stone and connect the gulch’s bottom to the town above. Rusted, maybe, but still intact. For whatever it does.

No water at this second, but merely a few feet down, the riverbed is filled with dark, heavy sand. V extends a probe and scoops some of it away. After several minutes of digging, water starts to well, brown and gritty but very much wet.

 _Paydirt!_ It’s cute how excited she sounds – V can imagine her doing a fist-pump in her seat. _That’s nova, V. Got everythin’ we need. Head on back before you run outta juice._

She retracts the mechanical arm, but not before something catches her eye. A quick, nearly imperceptible glimmer from the riverbed. Only years of appreciating – and klepping – shiny things makes her notice it at all.

Pulls it from the sand, washes it in the sad little waterhole she made, gives it a scan. Stone half the size of her fist, threaded through with quartz and copper, the two of them forming a mesmerizing series of tiny, glittering rivers under the rock’s red-orange surface; a sunlit stream, Helios’ molten veins.

Beautiful in its own right, surely, but V’s more interested in the fact that it’s shaped like a heart. Little lopsided, fine. But whose isn’t?

V looks up again before Judy notices and takes off, making sure to keep it out of her optics frame.

_Carol says you can disengage the camo. If someone shoots you outta the sky, it’ll be her ass retrieving it._

Her metallic skin shivers before reappearing. V pushes full-throttle and speeds towards the slowly-growing specks of the convoy on the horizon. Still maybe two hours ‘til they arrive.

 _Soooooo…_ Judy’s voice drawls in her ear, _back in the panzer, huh? You and Panam made up?_

V trills an affirmative.

_Wanna grill you now, but I’ll be patient. Only wish I could’ve seen your face through that clusterfuck._

Why does it sound like she’s holding back laughter? V huffs, drone whirring unhappily, doing a quick roll in the air.

_Don’t worry, baby. Didn’t mean it like that. Just know she’s, uh, stubborn… like someone else I know._

V makes it back to the caravan only to circle once or twice, leisurely, enjoying the digital wind on her faceplate. Endless expanses of red rock and scrubby brush, the heat rising to shimmer on the dunes like reality itself shifts and trembles… for all she bitches about sand, V could come to love the desert. 

But nothing is as welcome a sight as the green-pink hair poking out of Carol’s ride. V swings the drone around, nearly _too_ fast, brushing maybe just a little up against the truck and leaving a (really, the _tiniest_ ) polished circle, one for each of them, stamped into their metal shells.

“Watch it!” Carol snaps, heard not through the comm but the actual drone; Judy pays her no mind, arms folded to lean over the side, smirk too close to a smile to hold any sort of heat.

“Careful there, drunk driver,” Judy raises a brow, “or I’ll have to take your license away.”

A good thing V’s struck silent, then, when her first thought is, _please try, officer_. Followed closely by _I don’t actually have a license._ Both things involve that MaxTac uniform.

Chirps instead, nuzzles into her outstretched hand like a dog would.

“Alright, alright, you can stop bein’ cute. It’s no fun when you can’t bite back.” Still runs her fingers along the drone’s shell, as gentle as she would touching V’s actual flesh. The drum of it sounds like rain above the engines. “Well… less fun.”

V flips the drone over to expose its belly. Simultaneously, the arm bends, presenting her with its still-sandy prize. Judy’s head tilts.

“What is—” takes it, fingers instantly recognizing the shape, lopsided though it might be, “—oh, V…”

Says her name different; soft, sweet, safe in her mouth. V aches to sweep her up in her arms – settles instead for whistling _Only You_ in a key so terrible Judy immediately rolls up her window.

Still, she’s laughing as she does – Judy drags her thumb over the intricate veinwork, the rough stone and smooth minerals weaving together. Presses her knuckles to her grinning mouth before it overtakes her entire face. Still, V reads under her fingers, blending with Judy’s voice in her ear as the glass shuts. _I love you too, gonk._

Rolls over back to the roof quick. Can’t look too long at Judy; not now, with the warmth in her, the light, how it spills out of her smile and softens her shark-sharp angles. A warning flashes over V’s optics as she docks: Critical Battery Depletion. The consequence of so many shiny new toys.

She can relate.

Sucked out of her temporary new body with a rush, far-flung into space and snatched back out of oblivion – she wonders if Judy could make a BD off that feeling alone – V’s already compiling a report in her head when she lands back in the panzer with a full-body twitch. Her optics take a second to catch up. For a few moments, she’s in two places at once, staring at the open sky while the rest of her settles back into (mostly) organic skin.

And realizes, quite abruptly, that every part of her _burns_ like she’s been dipped in magma.

V lets out a ragged breath. Panam pretends not to notice, bless her, as she shifts, squirming in the panzer’s harness, trying and failing not to brush up on the buckle between her legs. Entire body uncomfortably hot, sweat leeching into her collar, throbbing in her leathers and no signs of relief soon.

Christ, she’s gonna boil her own cyberware at this rate.

“What did you find?” Panam asks, casual. Unbothered. Familiar music hums in the gaps between her words – Samurai, recognized instantly. _Chippin’ In._

Fitting.

V clears her throat. “Small town… maybe thirty buildings. A few unusable but most are okay. Got some weird… contraption… thing for water. Dunno if it works, but the sand’s wet. Looks deserted. No new tracks.”

A moment considering, head tilted to the side. “Found a pretty rock,” she says with as much importance as the others.

Panam nods sagely. Her fingers drum on the controls, restless but not agitated. “Good. It’ll be nice to have a steady source. Makes everything else easier.”

“Mhm.” V’s front wheel hits a rock – body lurches forward, pressing sharp into the harness. Johnny’s half-screamed vocals swirl up to smother her pained gasp. There’s irony in there somewhere, the only favour he’s ever done her, but V’s too focused on digging her heel into the panzer’s floor to come up with it. “F-found a little chapel, too. Think we’re gonna bunk there.”

“Watch for scorpions. Those little fuckers are everywhere.”

“Noted.”

Sweat slips down her spine. Why is it so fuckin’ hot in here? Feels Panam’s consciousness slide against hers, molasses-thick, as their eyes meet in the rear-view mirror – V tries to do like the monk showed her and become zen, or whatever, but also being on fire was never part of the simulations.

The panzer drones its way along the sands. V presses her knee into the side of her chair, hard enough to make her hip ache. Teenager again, hormonal – sourceless and relentless, consumed by it, eating up her concentration. Never tried so hard not to think in her entire life.

What the fuck is _wrong_ with her? Not like she doesn’t get laid nearly every night.

“You doing okay, choom?”

Barely hears her, not when V’s so focused on keeping her shit together. Moreso _feels_ Panam’s curiosity slither over her thoughts – a different weight to Johnny, one body shared versus two bodies synthesized.

(Another feeling, too. Hot. Rich. Given like a gift, settling heavy, taking root in V’s gut. Not sure where (who?) it comes from, doesn’t know if she cares. Did Judy spike her meds this morning?)

“Yeah,” she croaks. Sounds real convincing. “It’s just—s’hot. Does this thing have AC?”

“It’s already on.”

V holds her fingers to the vent. Cool air trickling through, not nearly strong enough - the raspy teeth of her jacket set off fireworks where they drag across her wrist. “Feels like a preschooler tryna blow out a candle.”

“Feel free to upgrade it yourself. It’s not even that bad.”

Doesn’t notice the subtle tremor in Panam’s voice, how tightly she keeps her own thoughts from bleeding through the link, snatched from the drift before they can manifest. V scoffs. “Don’t gimme that, you’re sweatin’ too.”

Their eyes meet again in the mirror. There’s a long moment of tension, stretched out like stale bubblegum – Panam’s forehead glistens, damp in the hollows of her collar.

“I think that’s your fault,” she mutters eventually, not quite irritation but with the same bite, hands tightening on the controls. Snaps her eyes back to the road with an unreadable expression – V watches a bead of sweat roll down her temple, feels it curl down her own jaw as it crosses Panam’s.

 _Don’t get snappy at me,_ V almost says, _you volunteered_. Remembers instead how they’d both jumped when Panam touched her thigh. Twin adrenaline in the middle of a firefight, blending together. Panam’s restless fingers on the dashboard.

V presses her thighs together, pleasure from the pressure zipping into her toes. Panam swallows.

_Oh._

Tries to snatch that thought out of the ether before it reaches her. Isn’t sure how successful she is, not when Panam’s jaw clenches, knuckles drumming. Annoyed if you don’t know her well enough – uneasy if you do. 

Almost wants to apologize, but what would she say? _Sorry that I… what? Made you remember me naked?_ V’s face warms. Feels way worse than just ignoring it entirely. Panam isn’t looking at her, gaze unwavering out the windshield, but the weight of her consciousness coils around V like a serpent.

What follows is some of the most awkward silence of V’s life.

Nearly impossible to keep their thoughts completely separate. Just doesn’t work with technology like this, when it takes the two of them together to keep it from falling apart. Keep brushing up against each other’s minds, involuntary, trading shreds of information, scraps of feedback, before pulling apart again. V’s chest squeezes tight – not sure if it’s Panam’s heartbeat or just an echo of her own, _bang-bang-bang_ , a speedbag on her ribs.

Still stupidly hot, leathers sticking all over her body, but V just cranks the AC to max and suffers in slick, sweaty silence. Thinks about the dumbest shit to keep herself occupied. Not all of it even makes sense, but that’s secondary.

Halfway through remembering trashing that multi-million eddy boat with Kerry when Panam snorts.

“What?” V asks.

“ _You_ know Kerry Eurodyne?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Thinks back on the gig before, silver-tongued their way into the dressing room, Kerry’s iron glinting in the harsh overhead lighting.

Panam’s eyebrows shoot up. “And Us Cracks? You waved a gun in their faces without getting blasted to pieces? Who _are_ you?”

“Got their autograph, too,” V says, thinking about that photo stored somewhere in their belongings. “Must be that charm I keep tellin’ you ‘bout.”

This time, Panam actually twists her head to look at V, brow still up. “Then why didn’t you take the picture _with_ them?”

A long, long moment of quiet.

V deflates. “Would’ve been the cool thing, huh?”

Panam’s laughter carries them all the way into their new town. As small as V said, buildings looking even rougher close to the ground. They navigate the panzer into a clearing large enough for the trucks to group up, sand swirling underneath them, one last scan to make sure there’s no one lying in wait.

Before V even has time to unbelt, Panam’s already pulled the plug and opened the hatch to a hot, dry wind that doesn’t do much to relieve the stifling atmosphere. V’s headache comes back with a vengeance as she and Panam disconnect, but she’s gotten good at relegating it to background noise.

“So eager to get rid of me?” V teases.

Panam’s halfway out the tank when she stops, glancing down knowingly, strange little half-smirk on her lips. “Something like that,” she parrots, hauling herself out without a look back. “See ya later, V.”

V looks down. A _very_ obvious bulge presses against her zipper.

“Goddamn it,” V groans, and she swears she hears Panam laugh.

Opens her hatch next, stripping out of her Aldecaldo jacket. A relief to let the wind touch her bare skin. Wraps the jacket around her hips, off-center, letting it flow down one leg as a cape. Passable.

Hops out of the panzer. Panam’s long gone, undoubtedly talking logistics. Sun’s starting to sit low on the horizon, deepening the red hue of the desert, and the nomads murmur about supper. Three are already setting up the canteen, another two breaking out the pots and pans. Always amazing how they can whip up a proper meal so quickly.

“New fashion trend?”

V jumps. Judy snuck up on her, somehow, looking just shy of smug. “You know me, always ahead of the curve.”

“Says the person wearing pants that’re almost as old as my _abuelo_.”

“Leather never goes outta style.”

“Mmm, I agree…” Judy brushes the backs of her knuckles over V’s bicep, and she can’t hold back the shiver, “jeez, you’re sweaty.”

V clears her throat. “Hot in there.”

“No AC?”

“Nothin’ good.”

Judy hums in sympathy. “I’m gonna make an air-con so cold it’ll freeze your implants.”

V looks at her, entirely serious. “You do that and I’m proposin’ right here.”

Expects Judy to laugh, to nudge her. Instead she flushes, eyes wide, hand freezing at V’s elbow. Takes her a second to recover that feels like a lifetime. “That’s all? Should’ve told me ages ago.”

V smiles, easy, taking her hand and lacing their fingers together. “I got a rep to maintain, y’know.”

They linger until the call for supper goes out. Judy’s the first in line, V trailing behind like a puppy. While she _is_ hungry – piloting the panzer takes a lot out of someone, both physically and mentally – and eats what she can, for once, Judy outpaces her.

Too restless in her own skin, too hot and prickly. Her entire pelvis aches.

“So, did Panam finally pull her head outta her ass?”

V glances up, absently chewing on a chunk of potato. “Yeah. Said next time she’ll just spray me with a hose.”

Judy chuckles. “If she gets me with that, she’s dead.”

Thinks back on it, Panam’s nearly… frantic expression in the tent. How anxious she was, how out of place. Rare for her.

“She seemed surprised that you didn’t tell me anythin’.”

Watches Judy suppress a smile. “Told her I wouldn’t.”

V narrows her eyes. “Not shit-talkin’ me, are ya?”

“ _Querida,_ trust me, we’d just dish it to your face.”

“That’s… yeah. You would.”

Chews on the curiosity inside her like a piece of gristle. Wants to know, but honestly? Not her business. Knows it’ll come out, eventually, but that doesn’t stop her from being impatient.

Judy knows, like she always does, one hand on V’s knee. “I’m sure she’ll tell you. Give her time.”

“Mm.” Already lost concentration with Judy’s touch on her. V glances over, suddenly uninterested in the conversation. “Wanna go find that chapel?”

For the first time, Judy glances at her half-eaten bowl. “Why the rush? You feelin’ okay?”

V takes Judy’s wrist and drags it between her legs.

Her output’s brows shoot up to her hairline. Even this touch, no friction, is enough to make V want to whine.

“Wow,” Judy murmurs, squeezing as she does. V’s knee slams into the table and makes the cutlery rattle. A few nomads look over – V gives them a pained smile, hunching over best she can.

“Do that again,” V says, strained, “and you can’t hold me responsible for my actions.”

Judy’s eyes darken. “What, you gonna bend me over the table?”

V’s cock jumps in her grip – she rakes one hand through her sweaty hair, ears pink. “Don’t tempt me.”

They get up soon after that. Barely remember to drop their bowls off at the canteen, giggling like teenagers, fingers laced together as they hurry off into town. Grab the bare necessities of their stuff from storage – sleeping rolls, spare clothes, a few bottles of water. They can get the rest tomorrow.

Carol shakes her head as they skip by, but V doesn’t miss the wink she sends in Judy’s direction.

“Sooooooo,” Judy drawls when they’re alone, still walking, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Was giving me that rock part of your elaborate ploy to get laid?”

V laughs and swings their joined hands. “I don’t need an elaborate ploy to get laid. I just love you.”

Other woman rolls her eyes, can’t hide the blush on her cheeks. “Dork.”

“Maybe,” V teases, sneaking up behind her, making her stumble as she wraps her arms around Judy’s waist, “but your dork.”

They both stagger, nearly face-planting.

“Watch it!” Judy giggles, pressing back into V. “You could poke an eye out with that thing.”

“Not one of my preferred kinks.”

“Oh, baby, I know.”

Her steps are so light V feels drunk as they find the chapel. Smaller than previously thought, back corner of the roof caved in, dingy off-white and creaking ominously in the desert wind. Another day they’ll stop and do a full-circle, admire what doesn’t need changing and note what does, but tonight isn’t about work.

V yanks on the chapel door. Doesn’t budge. “Ugh.”

Judy peers around both sides of the building. No holes big enough for them to crawl through.

If she really tried, V could jump in through the roof. Done more with less. But she’s impatient and horny and her frontal cortex has long stopped making rational decisions.

So she grabs the side of the door, stuck open just enough to get her fingers in the crack, and _pulls_.

It groans angrily. V clenches her jaw, heels digging into the dusty stonework.

Judy smirks. “Miss your gorilla arms?”

Indignation swells in her. “Don’t need no—” teeth gritting, cybernetics buzzing, joints starting to strain, “—goddamn—” nails dig into the wood, splintering it, “—gorilla arms!”

The entire door breaks off the hinge with a rattling boom. V barely catches it as it falls; easily four feet taller than her, over twice as heavy. Leans it awkwardly against the wall and dusts off her hands, beaming as she turns to Judy. “See?”

Word gets stuck half-way in her throat with the way Judy’s looking at her. Eyes so dark they’re black, lip between her teeth, shoulders angled forward. Predatory. V backpedals as Judy stalks up to her, stumbling into the chapel.

Nearly trips on a nearby stone, but Judy’s fingers wind into her tanktop and hold her upright.

“Yeah,” she rasps, “I do.”

Their kiss isn’t pretty. Hungry, messy, Judy’s body pressed up against hers and her fingers looped in V’s belt and her tongue already in V’s mouth, demanding, _insisting_ as she presses forward. V would never even think of denying her – lips parting with a groan, her own hand tangled in Judy’s hair as she walks them backwards.

Bumps her hip on a pew, muffling a curse against Judy’s mouth. They both laugh, not bothering to separate, V relying on Judy’s judgement as she steers them away from any more obstacles.

Aldecaldo jacket crumpled on the floor. Judy’s overalls draped low over both hips as V pulls off the lopsided strap, running her hand over the smooth, pale skin of Judy’s belly, relishing the full-body shiver it elicits. Too impatient to strip further, not when they’ve made it up the shallow stairs at the head of the chapel and V’s ass hits something solid.

V makes to slide Judy’s overalls off completely but Judy’s too fast, nimble hands working her belt buckle, the clink of it in the otherwise silent church making V’s whole body sing. Leans back, hands nearly crushing the wood behind her – the altar, right – and looks up at that single pane of stained glass.

“We’re goin’ to hell, aren’t we?” V asks. The faded murals of angels along the ceiling glare back at her as Judy opens her zipper.

“Probably,” Judy agrees, hands curling in her elastic, “but least we had fun.”

Finally, _finally_ , relief. V tips her head back as her cock pops free, the cool(er) air prickling goosebumps up her thighs – flushed red and quivering, an impressive string of precome drooling from her tip.

“Oh, V,” Judy murmurs, trailing a finger over her dripping length, taking in the sticky, slimy mess in her pants, “ _look_ at you. How long’ve you been like this?”

She licks her lips, looking like she’s about to kneel, but V shakes her head and grabs Judy by the shoulders. “Long enough,” she growls, dragging her back to her mouth, teeth scraping over her bottom lip as they press together. Her cock throbs, trapped between their bodies; one braincell less and V would just rut against her like an animal, but Judy’s starting to squirm, too, and V’s never been accused of being a selfish lover.

So she spins her, one hand between her shoulders, and presses her into the altar. Judy goes willingly – V half-expected her to tease, but she’s pliant, hands gripping the edge of the wood as V’s hands drag down her spine, her ribs, her hips, overalls pooling at her ankles a moment later.

Pleasantly surprised when she reaches a hand between Judy’s thighs and it comes back wet. V uses her foot to nudge Judy’s apart, revealing more of her, dampness visible even through her black panties.

V swallows.

Judy glances back over one shoulder, eyebrow raised. “You can take a picture later.”

“Mmm…” V slips her fingers under the fabric, trails them through Judy’s slit, “promise?”

The other woman stifles a moan. “Promise. Now, please, just— _oh!_ ”

No matter how many times they do this, V’s always amazed at how responsive she is. How sensitive. Judy bucks into her touch as V slides her fingers through her slick, shamelessly rocking back onto V’s hand, a low whimper leaving her mouth as V plays with her clit. Already swollen up, hot to touch – easy for V to catch it between two fingers and pinch lightly.

“Look at _you_ ,” V echoes, cruel in a loving way as she circles the tip of her thumb around Judy’s hole, “this all for me?”

Doesn’t get a response right away, not with the way she’s still rubbing her clit. Judy lets out a shaky breath and presses her forehead against the wood. “Always, baby.”

Something flutters in V’s chest, different than the heat in her gut but in the same family, twisting over each other to make something new. Happens more and more lately – not only when they’re together like this, either. Bringing her a cup of coffee just the way she likes, remembering where she puts her stuff when V (inevitably) forgets, helping her dress when her head hurts too much to bend over. Makes V want to stay with her forever.

A year ago, that would’ve been a terrifying thought. But V… well, she ain’t the same person she was a year ago. Not even close.

So she replaces her thumb with two fingers, sinking them into Judy’s heat, knowing she likes that edge of a burn inside her. Runs the textured pad of her other thumb over her clit to ease it and grins when Judy’s breath shudders.

(Might have asked Vik for that one when he installed her coprocessor, special order, the swirls of her fingers lined with ridged rubber. Worth all the remarks – even when the NCPD came to Judy’s apartment that night with a noise complaint.)

“Stop teasin’ me,” Judy mumbles, no heat but all desperation behind it, and five minutes ago V wouldn’t have hesitated to raw her on the spot but that warm-gooey feeling is still in her chest, sloshing around like it could pass for liquid.

So she drops to a crouch instead, her breath hot on the backs of Judy’s thighs.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she says, and swaps her thumb with her mouth.

Judy _yelps_ , one hand shooting back, torn between pulling at her hair and pulling her closer by the back of her head. Keeps her fingers inside, scissoring them as she draws her tongue over Judy’s slit, the slick metal stud rubbing up against the base of her clit.

Always hot and sticky, always ready, but she feels so good after she’s come a few times first. Boneless in V’s hold, those sweet moans like glitter-dust.

Free hand goes to Judy’s hip, pulling her closer, crooking her fingers as she does. Guides one of Judy’s knees up onto the altar for a better angle, so she can worm her head between her thighs, lips closing loose and messy around her clit. It’s a little awkward and she can’t get enough of a seal to suck, but the sharp whine above her doesn’t seem to mind.

Except for the tug of V’s textured fingertips, Judy’s so wet there’s no friction at all. Runs down her palm, over her jaw – pretty sure there’s slick up her nose, too, but she isn’t complaining. Always been a sloppy eater. V curls her fingers hard and presses her tongue-stud against Judy’s clit, already leaning forward so her shoulder can catch her weight if she falls.

Judy’s voice calls out into the chapel like it did all those years ago and comes back to her much the same way; loud and long, layering over itself. Breaking into pieces, echoing back, a hundred different timelines all converging into one space to sing.

V shivers. Always loved Judy’s voice, its rasp. Rarely hears it quite so broken, though – that’s reserved for V alone. Wants to hear it again and again and again.

So instead of pulling her fingers out once Judy stops trembling, she adds a third.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Judy wheezes, on the edge of overstimulated but widening her knees anyway. V laughs against her, the buzz of it sending sparks through her cunt, reflexively squeezing down on V’s hand. A pool of precome gathers underneath V and joins her to the floor, a single, sticky string, but it’s a peripheral ache. Easily ignored and pushed aside.

Works Judy back up quick, expert-like. Her girl’s always had a hair-trigger, a voracious appetite; V thought she had a healthy drive but Judy puts her to shame. Needs more than a few before she settles back into her own skin.

That’s okay. V’s nothing if not generous.

Murmurs encouragement as Judy starts to writhe again, wedging herself between her thighs to hold her up. Hesitant at first about letting her lean, always is, but after that time Judy saw her fall off a sixth-story balcony and pop right back up, she’s gotten better about it.

“That’s it,” V mumbles, half-buried between her legs, rewarded by another gush of slick over her chin. Judy scrabbles at the altar when V doesn’t stop – jaw aching, wrist burning, manipulating Judy’s thighs onto her shoulders just enough to change the angle and seal her lips around her clit.

Stays there even as the second one comes and goes, fading into each other, Judy trembling like a leaf as V doesn’t let her rest up enough to—

Nearly screams as V sucks, weight falling fully onto her face, hips rocking clumsily on her dripping fingers. V straightens her spine, holds her there, free hand sunk into her asscheek to keep her upright. Her toes barely touch the ground.

Could stay there forever, would die there if she was allowed, but Judy yanks her up by the hair once the third one passes and twists around, body still facing away, to crush their mouths together. Can taste herself as she does, slick smeared all over V’s face – leans back just enough to see Judy’s eyes through the frantic motions, wide and wild and wanting.

“V,” Judy chokes out, on the verge of tears, “please, need you—”

Like a bump of Black Lace straight to the brain. V groans, nodding furiously, using her non-sticky hand to shove her pants down to mid-thigh. “I’m here,” she rasps, pressing forward, leaning to drag her wet mouth along Judy’s sweat-soaked spine as she grips herself with her other hand. She’s so hard it _hurts_.

Done teasing now. Pushes in quick, smooth, slippery as she fills Judy’s cunt. V’s toes curl in her boots and her optics actually do fuzz, just a little, at the sudden rush of feedback, the intense shock of pleasure that races through her whole body.

Both moan – Judy’s head _thumps_ forward onto the altar. V’s fingers sink around her hips, relishing how tightly they’re pressed together. Hot and sticky, trembling like a scav without a fix; Judy’s core squeezes molten around her, smearing slick against the bottom of her tank top, but V doesn’t notice at all.

Doesn’t really notice anything except how close she is already. That’s… embarrassing.

Shakes her head, breath hissing out through clenched teeth. One experimental thrust – _slap_! That sloppy clap rings out into the chapel and makes them both shiver. Light bounces off the mounted cross overhead. It reflects, beaming down onto the altar, painting Judy’s spine with fire.

V doesn’t take anymore time after that. Sets up a brutal pace, that one clap replaced by countless, barely pulling out halfway before pushing back in. Crowds Judy up against the altar, the whole thing rocking with them, the squeal and scrape of the wood against the floor doing little to cover their filthy noises.

Judy’s never been shy; here, she’s so loud V considers putting a hand over her mouth.

Decides against it nearly immediately. Why would she want to muffle any of those sweet little sounds? Those wrecked, raw moans, forced from her chest every time V bottoms out? Wants the whole camp to hear it, maybe. To show them how good they are together.

V folds herself over Judy’s back. Teeth sink into her shoulder, hard enough to leave a ring, but Judy just keens and pushes back into it. Always ready for whatever V has to give her, always ready to take it.

“Good girl,” V mutters, breathless, the answering squeeze of Judy around her enough to snatch the air right from her lungs. “M’not gonna last …”

Judy reaches back, threads her fingers in V’s hair. Doesn’t say anything – doesn’t need to, not with the way she clenches up, going stiff beneath her, slick dripping off the base of V’s shaft.

That heat in her gut could boil her alive. V winds her arms around Judy’s hips, tight, holding her close as she ruts mindlessly into her quivering core. Both of them crushed against the altar, Judy’s nails splitting the wood. So good, feels so good, always _so_ good for her – no words, no thoughts, nothing except _mine_ , _mineminemine_ —

V curls blindly around Judy as she comes. Grinds her face into her neck, hips rocking in tight, little thrusts against her ass, thick and trembling inside her as she spills. Judy’s mumbling something, half-nonsense and half-satisfaction, unable to do much of anything else while she’s trapped under V’s deceptively heavy bulk.

Feels Judy’s fingers raking through her sweaty hair, pushing it from her eyes. Doesn’t realize they’re open until she tries to look up. Blinks once, twice, leans into her trembling touch. Darkness.

“Wow,” V croaks, boneless, “I came so hard my optics died.”

The body underneath her shifts. “Wh—wait, seriously?”

Judy’s voice is as fucked-out as V feels. She laughs, kissing where she’d bitten, tasting the indents in her flesh. “Shhh, s’okay. Just lemme lay here a sec, they’ll come back.”

Maybe she should be more alarmed, but she can’t feel worried about much right now. Closes her eyes and rests her cheek on Judy’s back, absently drawing her hands up and down her ribs. Content to spread her fingers out alongside them and feel the air rush through.

Eventually, that familiar red banner flashes over V’s sight, and the chapel fades back into view. Blurry for a little bit, unfocused, but… that could just be the orgasm.

“There,” V sighs, “see?”

“Do you?”

V rolls her eyes, lifting herself from Judy’s back enough to give her a quick slap on the ass. It echoes like a gunshot.

Loses her smarmy retort on a strangled groan when Judy clenches around her. Her output’s looking back over her shoulder, eyebrow arched, one kiss-bitten lip caught between her teeth. “Don’t start somethin’ you’re not gonna finish, darlin’.”

That drawl alone almost brings her back up to full mast. Almost.

“Need a minute,” V chuckles, stooping to kiss her spine. “Not all of us are nymphs like you.”

(A lie, but V’s hobbled by physiology. Who even invented a refractory period?)

“Gonna take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

Pulls out slow, the sloppy slide of it making them both squirm. It’s an absolute disaster between Judy’s thighs; shiny-wet, cunt flushed pink and swollen open, slick and come both dripping down her legs. V watches, enraptured, as a bead of milky fluid dribbles out of her wrecked hole.

Judy hisses as V uses her sticky finger to push it back inside.

“Stop playin’ around, you’re gonna get my overalls dirty.”

Ignores her, using two fingers to stretch her out, just up to the first knuckle, Judy having to squeeze not to spill. “Hate to break it to you, babe, but that ship’s already sailed.”

Judy huffs but doesn’t comment. V licks her lips.

( _“You can take a picture later.”_ )

Kneels and does exactly that, withdrawing her fingers just to place her hand on Judy’s ass, using her thumb to peel apart her pretty pink slit. Captures the moment a thick, sticky rope of seed leaks out of her and hangs suspended on her clit.

“ _Fuck_ , Jude,” V sighs out, half-way between aroused and amazed, “you’re gorgeous.”

“Gonk,” Judy mumbles into her now-folded arms. V doesn’t need to see her to know she’s blushing.

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

Can’t help herself, leans forward to give one, long along the length of her folds before she stands up. Shivers as Judy does, as she tastes them both combined on her tongue.

V’s legs are still a little wobbly as she helps Judy up. There’s a deep, angry line on her belly from being pushed into the altar; V kisses it with more reverence than this chapel has ever seen.

Judy smiles, soft. “I love you.”

Feels V’s smile spread over her skin. “You better. How many was that, four? Five?”

Laughs as Judy shoves her away, not nearly as hard as she could. “Ugh, you’re such an ass. Didn’t hear me commentin’ on how quick you finished.”

“Not fair,” V pouts. “Put yourself in my shoes – hard all day, then seein’ you like that, callin’ out my name? Didn’t stand a chance.”

“So s’my fault, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

Judy rolls her eyes, smile fond. “Go put that mouth to use and find me somethin’ to clean up with, would ya?”

“With my mouth? I know one way.”

“You do that, and you’ll be makin’ more of a mess than you fix.”

V chuckles and pulls her pants over her hips, not bothering to re-zip her fly. “Yes, ma’am.”

All their stuff is where they’d dumped it in a rush – V crouches, whistling, and digs through the scattered supplies for anything useful. Bedding? Gross, no. Clothes? Maybe, but there’s no laundry in sight. V could walk around with only one sock if she _really_ had to for a while…

Definitely missing Judy’s apartment right about now.

Finally, something passable – an old rag, torn up for scrap and twisted in with V’s clothing. Looks clean… smells fine.

“Victory!” V crows, doing a dorky little dance that she’d once seen on TV. Does it all the way back up to the altar where Judy’s slipping her phone back into her pocket. “For you, my lady,” she says, bowing with a flourish, holding it up like a servant would an honoured sword.

Judy laughs as she takes it from her. “Please tell me you got more rhythm than that.”

Dances around her, shimmying her shoulders, nudging them together. “What d’you mean? It’s in perfect time to the music in my head.”

Artless, devoid of the usual fluid movement V’s so admired for. Still, her hands are sure as she takes Judy, spinning her in place, careful not to twist her up in the overalls around her knees. “S’my mating dance. Is it workin’?”

And then Judy’s looking at her so, so soft, looking _up_ , V’s back against the altar and Judy pressed against her, tangled up in each other; sundown comes through that single pane of stained glass, dappling the entire dais in brilliant, warm glow.

Despite its name, Night City was intimately intertwined with brightness. Streetlights and neon signs and advertisements and holograms, cyberware and cybernetics and cyberpsychosis, all shiny chrome no matter how the story ends, all of it blinding and polished and entirely synthetic. As if the gleam of guns and cars and coin could distract from the darkness underneath it all.

This… it’s different. Her, them, aligned just right when the sun hits: streaming into the chapel and washing over them, draping them in red and gold and green, deep and rich and yet somehow still so full of light. Makes Judy’s colourful hair gleam with a flame caught inside it; V’s convinced she’s the single holiest thing to ever grace this broken place of worship.

(Don’t need the church to make her sacred. Not with the way V hears hymns whenever she speaks, how her tattoos scrawl like living scripture. Judy could prophesize her own demise and V would gladly suffer the cross for a mere chance at her rapture.)

“Y’know, V… I think it is.”

* * *

Panam’s halfway through talking logistics with Carol and Cassidy when her phone pings.

Ignores it at first. So much to do in their new slice of paradise; get the generators up, figure out the water supply, set up lookouts and revive old connections. Some are pitching tents and others wander off, scoping out the dilapidated buildings that dot the old town, half-searching for supplies but mostly a place to hunker down. Gets cold at night in the desert – the more insulation between you and the stars, the better.

“Some sorta hydraulic gig, best we can tell,” Carol says, a bottle of Broseph perched on a precarious table next to her. “Old tech that’s been tinkered with over the years. Looks like we’re not the first to come through.”

Panam scans through her datapad. Enough water left for a week, if they’re careful with it. “Can you fix it?”

“Think so, but it’ll take a bit. More holes than a whorehouse.”

“Anything you need, just make it work – this is your only job ‘til it’s up and running.”

Carol nods, thoughtful. “I’ll bring Judy. Girl’s got a good head for this kinda stuff.”

 _Not the only good head she has,_ Panam’s brain helpfully supplies.

“Sure, whatever. Cassidy,” Panam pivots, more forceful than anticipated, making the old cowboy startle in his seat, “how’s the area looking?”

“Deserted, from what we can see. Boys’re still out. Just doin’ a preliminary sweep now, make sure we don’t get no surprises tonight, but we’ll do a thorough map of the area once the sun’s up.”

“Shouldn’t we be setting up a perimeter, making sure there’s no one lurking?”

He squints at her under his hat. “If it was daytime, sure. V had a pretty good look-see in the drone ‘fore we got here.”

“We have to pretend like Arasaka’s on our tails at any moment. If we get lazy, they’ll take advantage. Double the night-watch lookouts – make sure to talk to Dakota about getting her scanner up soon as she can, too.”

Cassidy and Carol share a look, unnoticed as Panam glances at her datapad. “Can do.”

“Good. Are the generators in progress?”

“Yes’m, puttin’ ‘em up as we speak.”

A loud roar rips through the chatter of the camp, cutting off his last word. Light flickers on in the windows of the saloon. He grins, sucking noisily on the snuff cached in his cheek. “Speak of the devil.”

Panam watches a few nomads dance through the artificial light, whooping and cackling, ale held high. “We can set up the canteen there, store our food in the back. Looks like the water pipes used to run over this way ‘til the desert got them. Get some sort of permanent icebox situation rigged up, maybe by repolarizing some of that tech we klepped from Arasaka. Just—”

“—make sure there’s no tracers or reboot loops before we do,” Carol interrupts, reaching to slap a cold Broseph into Panam’s free hand, “yeah. Don’t worry, we’ve been doing this since before you were even a bad idea below your daddy’s belt.”

“Fuck you, Carol,” Panam sighs, still grateful as she opens it. The hiss of the cap cracking open leaks some of the tension from her shoulders. “I’m just being thorough. The tribe’s only here because I brought them, I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“The tribe is here because you’re our leader. Where you go, we go.” Carol watches the celebrating family with a small smile. “’sides, think we were all ready to leave Night City. That place… it changes you if you stay too long. Eats you alive.”

_—V’s grin a terrible red scythe as she levels her shotgun at Adam Smasher’s head, both of them burned and brutalized but her unbothered, a wildfire insanity in her eyes as she spits Johnny’s name and pulls the trigger—_

“You’re telling me,” Panam mutters around her drink, “six months as a solo nearly made me crazy.”

“You were always crazy. Only the insane try and be a solo.”

“As I said, and I stress, _fuck you,_ Carol.”

Another chime rings from Panam’s pocket. She sighs, tossing her datapad onto the table with a loud clatter. “Swear to god, if it’s Mitch asking me about some pointless bullshit again I’m gonna shove his revolver up his own ass and douche him with so much lead he’ll be spitting bullets for _weeks_.”

When she pulls it up, though, it’s not Mitch. Judy’s icon flashes back at her.

Panam swallows the reflexive bolt of trepidation and opens it before she can talk herself out of it. The first message was from thirty-two minutes ago:

_If your night’s going like mine, I have a feeling you might need these_

And then, now that they just came through, three links. Braindances. Raunchy ones, if the titles are anything to go by.

Judy, you little shit.

She stares very, very hard at the _two_girls_one_bed_ until Cassidy tries to lean over.

“Someone send you a bomb?” he chuckles. Panam snaps her phone shut immediately, way too quickly to be casual.

“Feels like it,” she says, warm under her collar. Crosses her legs so she doesn’t have to feel that now-familiar ache in the center of them. (Doesn’t work very well.) “Where are V and Judy, anyway?”

Carol smirks. “Saw them running off to that church like a pair of giggling teenagers few hours ago. Don’t expect to see them rest of the night.”

 _If your night’s going like mine_ —then did that mean… were she and V still…

Panam takes a deep drink to distract herself. Cassidy laughs, clinking his bottle against Carol’s. “Young love. ‘member that, Carol?”

“You’ve still got some years on me, you fossil,” she teases, “but yeah, ‘course I do. When you’re in love at that age, it’s all that matters. Much as I think V’s a little gonk-brained… can’t blame her for not being able to keep her hands to herself.”

Both give Panam a surreptitious look, busy glaring into her Broseph like it holds all the answers—or at least a way out of this conversation.

Carol’s eyes narrow. “Aren’t we here ‘cause you know someone specific in Tucson?”

“And _that_ is exactly where I stop gossiping!” Panam slugs the rest of her drink and slams her empty bottle down. “Thank you for this truly enlightening conversation. I’m going to go do something useful now instead of listening to the old guard chatter on the metaphorical porch.”

“You should _sleep_ ,” Cassidy advises her. “Know you’ve been up every night this past week. We finally made it, you need’ta take a second and breathe.”

“I’m not _tired_ , I’m—” she inhales; sharp through her nose, a knife she’s sucking back into her chest, blunting it, “stressed.”

“Which is why you need’ta de-stress. No good havin’ a leader with a hot head makin’ dumb decisions.”

“I don’t have a—” she huffs as they both arch an eyebrow, “—ugh, I hate it when you do that. This better not be an excuse for the two of you to slack off.”

“Just a welcome side-effect,” Carol grins. “And you gotta admit, can’t do much with sundown. Generator’s up, supper’s done, and the family’s smashed. Take off your boots for once, girlie.”

“I don’t even know where I’ll be sleeping.”

It’s a weak excuse and they all know it.

“The saloon, o’course.” Cassidy says it like it’s obvious. “It’s the hub of the town with some big ol’ beds up top. Heard there’s even a bath.”

“A… bath. With no water.”

He waves his hand. “We’ll get it runnin’ soon. Stop tryin’ to help and kick yer feet up fer once. You led us outta the goddamn City of Nightmares with more tech than we can klep in five states, you deserve a little peace n’ quiet.”

“We got four hundred bodies to be roomed. I can’t take an entire saloon for myself, Cass. That’s basically an old-timey hotel.”

Another ping. Panam flicks the message open before even looking down.

Judy Alvarez:

_think this one’s just right for you ; )_

_chrome_conquest.dcx_

“Most of the rooms upstairs are busted, caved in. Only one’s actually functional.”

He pulls out a large, tarnished key, brass at one point but so corroded it’ll never shine again. Tosses it to Panam, who was paying attention a second ago – it hits her chest instead, _whump_ , and plummets into the sand.

She blinks owlishly. “What’s this?”

“The key to your room.”

Her eyes slide over her phone again before shoving it back into her pocket. “Told you, put people who actually need rooms in there. I’m gonna go look over the panzer – rotational system was shit today.”

Carol picks it up, presses it a little aggressively into her breastbone. She’s stopped smiling. “And we told _you_ , there’s only one room and nothing left to do tonight. Don’t make us lock you inside.”

A three-person stare off doesn’t take long when it’s two against one. Panam nearly growls. “Why are you being such a pain in my ass?”

“Why’re _you_ being so stubborn? What could possibly happen if you relaxed for two minutes?”

“Do I really have to answer that?”

Carol rolls her eyes. “Fine, freak Arasaka attack, someone going cyberpsycho. Can’t win ‘em all. But what, truly, can’t wait ‘til tomorrow? Why d’you have to do it right now instead of sleeping right for the first time in weeks?”

“I—” Panam opens her mouth, shuts it. Without anything to occupy her thoughts – nothing to fix, nothing to improve, nothing to solve – there’ll be nothing between them and her body, and, well…

“—fine,” she grunts, cutting herself off before she can wander too far, “but give me the rest of that case. Should at least be hammered.”

Cassidy hurriedly tosses her the mostly-full Broseph pack. “See? Was that so hard?”

“Don’t you start`—”

“Go,” Carol says, nudging her shoulder, breaking the impressive glower she pinned on Cassidy, “and don’t let me see you outside before sunup.”

Considers saying something snappy about spanking, but Carol has her _elder-face_ on and Panam’s got a headache that’s only gotten worse since the panzer. “Yes, _mom_ ,” she sneers instead, sticking her tongue out at Carol’s offered middle finger and spinning on her heel to leave.

Walks inside the saloon to the bustle of nomads in the back kitchen. Busy setting up big pots and countertops and jerry-rigging their equipment to the generator, pantry open and half-filled with disorganized boxes of all shapes and sizes. One nomad by the bar waves.

“Hey, Panam,” he smiles, all of sixteen, baby-faced with a rifle in his hands too big for him still, “your stuff’s already upstairs. Carol said to move it in a while ago.”

A spike of irritation runs through her. “She did, huh?”

“Uh… yeah.” He frowns and ruffles his hair. “I can move it, if you want?”

“It’s fine.” Hm, that was a little clipped. She forces a smile. “Thanks. I’m probably going to bed soon.”

“No problem, we should be done in a few minutes. Gonna have something real special for breakfast tomorrow.”

Her smile turns genuine. “That’s great, Logan. G’night.”

“Night!”

The old stairs creak as she walks. Faded squares on the wall denote where pictures used to be, long-since knocked away or stolen, wood rough and warped. Once she’s on the second-floor, the din from downstairs all but disappears.

Not difficult to find her room when the rest are buried under debris and broken beams. She kicks at the rubble, poking around half-heartedly, but most of the hallway was buried years ago. Excavating it would be a waste of time – she might want a distraction, but she isn’t quite that desperate.

Panam shoulders into the only working room. Nothing crazy; a bed with a desk against the wall, a beaten couch, couple of chairs, and a simple metal tub. Her bags sit at the bed’s feet – a double. Now isn’t _that_ a treat?

She runs her hand over the old frame, the mattress with the age-eaten bedding, testing its give. Smells a little funny. Expects (hopes, really) it hasn’t felt a body on it in nearly a century. Sheets don’t look _too_ gross, so hopefully no one died in here. Shakes out the bedding, dust and sand flying everywhere, coating the floor with a fine layer of debris.

Feels weird, closing her door. Not used to having doors – less so ones that actually work. Panam leaves her Brosephs on the table, already opening another, half of it gulped down before she takes a breath and decides to sit.

And now, alone in the silence of the saloon, she wonders if her plan worked maybe a little too well.

Talking with Judy kicked her ass back into gear. No matter how she felt personally, it wasn’t fair to V to shun her for something that wasn’t her fault. Especially when the other woman was trying so hard to make amends and Panam kept rebuffing her at every turn. So she’d sucked up her pride and the weird, tight feeling in her gut and apologized, though she’d rather swallow her own teeth, and promised herself that she wouldn’t get so awkward next time. V and her are chooms… and chooms joke around about all kinds of stuff.

That was the plan. Step one. Always, always step one. Reconnaissance before anything else; more time (to stall).’

(“ _V’s birthday is next month.”)_

It went almost perfectly. Apology accepted, choombas reunited, conversation easy. Panam feeling _very_ pleased with herself, making V cackle in a way she hasn’t in weeks. Everything calm. Back to normal, just like that.

And then… the panzer.

— _slick skin on skin, condensation hazing the room into a white blur, V; young and bright-eyed and implant free, flushed from the heat and the way she’s pressed against another woman, the naked curl of her spine flexing as she—_

Panam groans, starts to pace. Breathes in and tastes that hot, stilted air inside the tank. Mindlink goes both ways – brain is the biggest sensory organ, after all – and caught her up in that unexpected loop, recursive, Panam thinking about it making V think about it making Panam think about it making V—

Has to physically stop, shake her head, sighs before taking another slug.

Thought it would be a blessing once V’s mind went into the drone. Giving them distance to simmer down, detangle, but instead it gave Panam the space to think her thoughts without V hearing them – to relive her memories while still tethered together. To remember the way her body burned in the water.

For it to make Panam burn, too. And because _she_ burned, V, well…

No matter how much chrome she chips, her body will forever be an animal. It reacts to what it knows.

Panam drains one bottle and trades it for another without looking. Opens it, flick of the wrist, the bite of it on her tongue a (temporary) welcome distraction. Headache throbbing at the base of her skull; hours of drifting, of keeping her thoughts close, of carrying the weight of two bodies together. Even still, was so much worse in the panzer. Does V always live like this? Feeling so much, muting so little? Is that why Panam shifts and leans and despite the pain in her head just _knows_ she’s wet, can feel it between her thighs, has done for hours and hours? All because of _her?_

“Fu-u-uck…” she hisses between her teeth, hand passing over her sweaty forehead. Drains her third beer fast enough that her stomach churns, unsure, but she’s had years of practice drinking cowboys under the table. “This is the opposite of destressing.”

Panam flops down on her bed. It’s… surprisingly soft. And _big_. For her, anyway. Takes her time unlacing her boots. Warmth flushes into her fingers, her feet. Makes them tingle. She sighs and kicks them off, pulling the elastic out of her hair, puts it carelessly to the side.

Unbuckles her harness and opens a fourth Broseph. Doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing, but knows she can’t face it sober. Pushes it down her thighs and runs her palms over her jeans, sweaty, skin prickling where she passes.

Slings her shirt onto the ground when she hears the generator cut out for the night, door closing underneath her. Light from downstairs dies out. Panam stops, holds her breath, heartbeat in her ears. Nothing.

She’s alone.

Leans forward and fumbles through her pack for a lantern. Items go spilling out as she rummages, eventually finding the hand-crank one she’d made when she was twelve. Dull, yellow light spills from her hands – a tiny star.

Reaching for her beer again when a glimmer catches her eye. Simple steel, few red wires around it. A wreath.

And there it is: the crux of her problem. Expected to stay in step one for weeks, ease into it – slowly gathering up her thoughts like a magpie with something shiny, searching for scraps, placing them individually in her nest to find where they fit. Instead, she’s, well… here. Staring down the barrel of step two.

Act.

Her phone burns a hole in her pocket. Panam sighs, shaky, drinking again as a distraction. Can barely taste it anymore. Could just go to bed, roll over and forget about it, but…

No, can’t. Not with her whole body dipped in the same lava V fell into back in the panzer, how its plasma skitters across her sweaty skin. Panam swallows, mouth dry and sour, and clumsily kicks off her pants.

Takes a few minutes to figure out the wreath, her buzzing fingers having a hard time with the calibration. Opens her phone and stares blearily at the titles Judy sent her. Lingers on _two_girls_one_bed,_ but can’t get past that squirming feeling in her gut. _Almost_ loads _mr_rock_solid_ out of spite (or is it fear? desperation?) but flicks down the list to the most recent title.

 _Chrome_conquest._ Handpicked for her.

Takes one last drink, presses the cool bottle against her sweaty face. Nearly knocks it over when she puts it down. Doesn’t watch many BDs – it digs behind her ears, around the back of her neck when she lays back, heart pounding in her throat. (And elsewhere.)

And then the lights flicker on and she’s somewhere else.

_A well-lit villa in some tropical country – the lush vegetation nearly spills onto the balcony where Panam’s suddenly standing, air crisp like she’s never tasted, the echo of… are those birds? They sing out into the quiet, songs so sweet it seems almost impossible that animals could make them all on their own._

_Panam moves forward. Takes some getting used to, feeling herself do the action without thinking about it. Doesn’t help that in this world, this captured moment, every sensation walks on the razor-sharp edge of too much._

_V wasn’t kidding when she said Judy was good at this._

_Rounds the corner. Her bare feet tap-tap on the wood, coming around to a fireplace set into the deck, surrounded by lounge chairs. Night hangs in the sky and unfolds into a canopy of stars, blunting the shadows that creep in._

_On the other side of the flames… two people. Tangled in each other. Loose, flowing robes split open in the middle, limbs on limbs on linen, hushed giggling, flash of chrome in the dark—_

_“Oh,” says someone, a head of dark hair poking out from the heap, “hello.”_

_Panam inhales shakily, the eyes on her making her knees weak. “Hi,” she says in not-her-voice. Heat pools familiar in her belly, low and liquid, Panam shifting the longer the stranger looks at her. She’s handsome, in a way. Solidly built, wide shoulders, short hair brushing the nape of her neck._

_The other woman – on top, lime-green hair and monochrome eyes, no pupil – doesn’t stop exploring her partner’s body, running her tattooed hand down Stranger’s chest, drawing her fingers over her dusky nipples. Gaze slides over, connecting with Panam as her mouth opens; pretty-pink tongue dragging under her partner’s jaw, just a little bit of teeth, enough to make her moan._

_“Come to play?” Stranger rasps, turned into an arrow through Panam’s pelvis. The anticipation, both hers and not-hers, swirling together as warm winds, sweeping into her shared body. “About time.”_

_Panam wants to move… **god** , does she want. But the actor stays, her uncertainty fluttering in them like a caged bird. _

_Citrus notices her hesitation, smirks into Stranger’s neck. “Let her watch first.”_

_Moves her leg, peels Stranger’s robe back – chrome glints between her thighs, still warm where it was pressed into Citrus’ hip. Thick and textured on the underneath, shiny-smooth on the sides, bobbing above her stomach. Panam finds herself sinking to a seat almost-next to them, one lounge between like a shield._

_Torn between looking at the implant and Stranger’s flushed face, mouth kiss-swollen and damp, one lip between her teeth as Citrus runs her hands up the cybernetic cock. It twitches like it belongs to her. Maybe it does; Stranger’s head tilts, the glowing stripe of an active shard slotted behind her ear._

_Citrus twists her fist languidly over her shaft. There’s a clear fluid leaking out of the head, getting caught in the ridges, and Stranger whines as her thumb passes through them._

_Panam shifts – her thighs rub against each other, the hot bolt of desire ricocheting through her cunt. Makes her face burn, her insides clench, slicking her panties to her skin. Leans forward as far as she dares as Citrus drags her hand down Stranger’s cock, lips curling up at the choked-off little moan it makes._

_“Feel good?” she murmurs, amusement threaded into her tone. Stranger tries to roll her eyes but whimpers as Citrus closes her fist around her leaking head._

_“God, yes… more.”_

_And then Citrus slithers down Stranger’s body like she can’t wait any longer. Green hair scattering on Stranger’s knees, strong thighs jumping at the hot breath on her shaft, jaw dropping open as Citrus closes her mouth on where the toy connects to her flesh. Stranger’s eyes flutter shut, just once._

_Looks at Panam as they reopen, as Citrus slides her mouth up to the tip and curls her tongue around it. Watches her chest stutter up into a gasp._

_Stranger coats Citrus’ tongue in fabricated fluid. She glances back over her shoulder, coy with dark lashes, the long spread of her back mesmerizing from between Stranger’s legs. “Come help me.”_

_And then Panam’s scrambling from her seat, nearly skidding between Stranger’s feet. She huffs out a laugh, hand threading through Panam’s hair, her grip strong on her skull. Wrong colour as it winds in her fingers – doesn’t notice it at all._

_“You’ve done this before, right?” Citrus murmurs, pressing damp kisses to the head. Panam nods, hypnotized, leaning forward until she’s in Citrus’ space and their mouths slot together messily, tongue snaking out to trade the gathered precome between them._

_Softer than kissing a man. Gentler, maybe, but no less deep, no less passionate. No less exciting. Panam’s gut flips and curls into a fist as Citrus runs her slippery tongue over the backs of Panam’s teeth._

_Something pokes her cheek. Panam breaks the kiss, mouth skidding over the head of Stranger’s length, opening on instinct to fit the tip inside. Still warm from Citrus, the heat of their combined bodies making the supple metal nearly as hot as a real cock, head spinning and entire circulatory system relocated between her legs. Panam knows it’s not really up to her but she still squeezes her eyes shut and tries to swallow as much as she can._

_In those moments of darkness, surrounded by sensation but blind to the scene around her, it’s all too easy to think about someone else. A flash of dark hair, chrome fingers threaded in her braids, tongue sliding over real flesh and—_

_Hands slip into her panties. Panam muffles a yelp around Stranger’s shaft, eyes snapping open. Citrus smirks and drags her fingers down her slit, the **click**_ _of them as she does making Panam want to crawl under the lounge chair. Stays instead, going down until her not-eyes prickle with tears, the commanding hand on her skull making her gush around the slender fingers between her legs._

_Runs her tongue along the base as two fingers slide into her. The actress has obviously had more recent practice than Panam – they go in easier than she knows they would, slick and soundless, pleasure fizzing up her spine. Or is that because a woman’s hands are smaller, too?_

_Pulls off Stranger’s shaft with a cough, leaning down to lap at where she’s connected to the toy. A marvel of modern cyberware, truly, but she can’t but think that this part should be different, too._

_All too soon those hands are withdrawing. Panam’s groan of disappointment turns into a squeal – she’d never make that noise, ever – when Citrus grabs her under her arms and hauls her into Stranger’s lap. She collapses on her awkward, limbs splayed, the hot tap of her dripping cock on Panam’s belly enough to make her ache all over again._

_“This is for you,” Citrus murmurs in her ear, holding Stranger’s shaft ready as Panam settles over her hips. Grips Stranger’s strong shoulders, the collar that feels too dense to be bone, knees spreading apart, a shiver rippling through her as Citrus’ soft breasts press into her back. She drips all over Stranger’s cock and it dribbles onto Citrus’ fingers. “Sit down.”_

_Goes slow, the thickness of it a little intimidating, the dense ridges on the underneath a heavy drag in her gut. This at least, she knows. Texture’s off, too smooth in some places, but Panam’s cunt **throbs** as she’s filled, not caring in the slightest so long as she gets more of that feeling._

_Vaguely feels her breathing picking up, doesn’t know if it’s this body or her actual body, caught somewhere in this liminal space. Doubts they’re too different in the moment._

_”There you go,_ ” _Stranger huffs, flustered and sweaty and_ _so fucking hot, her hand spreading on Panam’s too-pale belly to feel herself inside. Panam groans, thighs trembling – Citrus’ hand snakes around one hip and rubs her clit in tight little circles._

_Leans her head back on Citrus’ shoulder. Pressure already building inside her, growing with every second spent inside this memory, every long, languid thrust that forges deeper into her core. Opens her mouth to say something – to slow down, maybe, to warn them – but Stranger keeps her thighs apart with strong hands and she nearly bites her tongue instead._

_“Look at you,” Citrus says in her ear, and there’s a little bit of a rasp that makes her sound like someone Panam knows, “taking her like a good little slut.”_

_“Uh-huh,” Panam’s mouth says, mindless, “I am,” and someone laughs low and pinches one nipple and Panam leans forward, eyes slipping shut, hands all over her, propping her up; Judy’s clever fingers rubbing at the root of her clit, the **slap-slap** between her thighs so sloppy as V leaves bruises on her hips from rutting into her in earnest—_

Panam convulses so hard she dislodges the wreath from her head. Falls back into her own body with a strangled howl, legs twisting in her sheets, fingers buried in her soaked slit and ruining the shorts she was going to wear to bed. Nearly cracks a tooth with how hard she clenches her jaw, face pressed into her pillow to muffle her scream. Her ears ring like someone threw a grenade into her room.

Or her gut.

Able to draw out the aftershocks by gliding slow circles around her clit, much in the same way Judy—Citrus—oh god. Panam slings her arm over her burning face, shielding her eyes from the gentle lantern light, feet twitching until she stops touching herself. Still feels the echo of being full, being _fucked,_ aches for it like a missing limb. Warmth pools in her belly, her bones, lingering like a sleeping fire— hasn’t worked herself up that easy since she was seventeen.

Sighs, shaky, hand withdrawing from her legs to long, sticky strings between her fingers. Cleans them off slow, remembers the cyberware on her tongue.

Glances over at the discarded wreath.

There’s still… she checks her phone. Forty minutes left. Her cunt hasn’t stopped throbbing yet and she’s going to need to change anyway; one wasn’t enough for the weeks-worth of tension threaded through her body no matter _how_ good. Just enough alcohol in her system to make her bold – to scroll to her contacts with her clean hand, blinking hard, and pull up Judy’s name.

Panam shifts, her legs rubbing together, sparks traveling down the backs of her thighs. Can’t remember the last time she was this wet without someone else touching her. Kicks off her underwear so she’s naked, her nails dragging over the sensitive flesh where hip meets leg – secures the wreath over her head, mouth dry, starts the calibration sequence again. She’ll think about what this means tomorrow.

Turns over to take another drink of her beer. Glances at her open phone, Judy’s name blinking, and writes out a hasty message before she can talk herself out of it.

_Panam Palmer:_

_hey, I watched the last video you sent. and I liked it._

_like, a lot._

_what now?_


End file.
